Genesis: A Beginning to Several Ends
by mistress editor
Summary: In the beginning, there was peace and order in the universe. The Deputy Headmistress smiled and said it was good. And then four young paragons set foot on hallowed ground, and peace and order flew out a turret window. [DefaultChapter One Reposted.]
1. Default

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DISCLAIMER: I hereby disclaim anything that hereby needs disclaiming.

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_In the beginning, there was peace and order in the universe. The Deputy Headmistress smiled and said it was good. And then, on September the first, of the year 1971, (a day that shall be noted in history for the remainder of time and beyond,) four young paragons set foot on hallowed ground, and peace and order flew out a turret window. And thus, a legend was borne._

_Genesis: Being the First Part of the History of the Greatest Thing to have Happened to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Also Called: The Marauder Tales) __-S. Black (et al.) "Vive la tare"_

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_**DEFAULT**_

_**Lies Our Mothers May Or May Not Have Told Us**_

_Just take a run at it._

_It's a wall._

_It's a magic wall._

_It's a bloody metal wall._

_It's a _fake_ bloody metal wall. It isn't really there._

_It looks pretty damn_ there _to me._

_Your mother said you'd be fine. Your mother wouldn't lie to you._

_Sure she would. She lies all the time. _

_No she doesn't! _

_Does too._

_When has she lied?_

_Well, she told me that things would start growing under my bed if I didn't clean it, and that eventually they'd get so big, they'd try to eat me._

_That's probably true. It was pretty gross down there._

_It's a wall._

_Just close your eyes and run._

_I don't want to._

_What kind of would-be Gryffindor are you?_

With a heavy sigh, James Potter closed his eyes and gripped the handle of his trolley until his knuckles turned white. The annoying voice in his head was right: if he was going to be sorted into Gryffindor, he was going to have to run at this wall. Hell, if he was going to be sorted into any house (Merlin save his soul), he was going to have to run at this wall. It was fact. It was necessity. Even Hufflepuffs could pass through the barrier.

Why not? What could it hurt?

_It could hurt a lot. It's a wall. A big, metal wall._

_Squib_.

"James, you're going to miss your train," his mother said sharply from behind him. He could feel her narrowed eyes leave the back of his head and look to the large clock that read 10:52. He had approximately eight minutes to run through this wall, find a compartment on the train, load and secure his heavy school trunk into said compartment, say goodbye to his mother, and, somewhere in that time span, breathe.

"You're wasting time," she said tartly.

James sighed again, took a deep breath, then held it.

"Darling, you do still _want_ to go to Hogwarts, don't you?" his mother asked in that acid-sweet, patronizing tone of voice, the one that said that he'd better answer correctly. No 'or else', just that he'd better. James knew the exact expression on her face – her chin tilted downwards, eyebrows slightly raised, eyes wide and expecting, mouth firmly set. She waited for him to reply, not because she didn't know the answer, but because she wanted to know that he did.

"Yes, Mother," James said upon releasing his breath.

"Because you don't have to," she insisted, and James didn't doubt for one moment that it was a trap. "We could just go home, and you can do whatever you want. And in a few years, you can get a job waiting tables, or cleaning streets, or you could even get a muggle job–" And she wasn't bluffing. He could say he wanted to go home, and she would take him home. He would be allowed to do whatever he wanted, even if what he wanted to do was nothing at all. And he would spend the rest of his life leeching off his family's well-earned money, knowing he was a disappointment, and a disgrace to his father's name.

"I want to go to Hogwarts, Mother," James said through gritted teeth.

He started when he felt firm, slender fingers grasp his shoulder, tight enough to feel her sharp nails press against his flesh, but not so tight as to be threatening. He scrunched his eyes closed determinedly and tried to keep himself steady as he felt her lean down to him, felt her warm breath tickle his ear, making him shudder involuntarily.

"Then run."

Her voice was a deep whisper, soft and firm, and laced with honey and spice. James remembered. It was the same voice that would sing away the monsters in the dark of night when he was scared, and his pain when he was hurt or sick. It was the voice that had always told him to be strong, and brave, and that everything was going to be all right. And because he had always believed her, it was that voice that made him want to be brave now.

So James took a deep breath. He gripped his trolley tighter, and prayed to Merlin and to God that he wouldn't screw up.

And he ran.

The barrier was nothing more than a rush of wind in his ears. As soon as it had started, it was over. He'd made it through the barrier in one piece and with all limbs and various extremities attached just where they should be. He wasn't the smear on a metal wall he thought he ought to be.

Well that was simple enough.

James could feel that voice in his head roll its eyes.

He looked around platform 9 ¾ for the first time in his albeit relatively short life. There were people everywhere in various states of rush and panic – the smaller they were, the more frazzled they were, seemed to be the general rule. Since he figured himself to be the smallest there, the rule seemed fairly accurate. The people there were in various forms of dress, from high quality, expensive robes, to all-but-patched-rags being passed off as robes, to muggle nightwear that clashed horribly with trousers and handbags, and various in-betweens.

James's mother strode through the metal barrier with her head held high, her posture perfect, just like she owned the place. Like she was rich. Like she was Pureblood. She was dressed smartly in a beige muggle blazer and skirt, complete with black pumps and white pearls. Her long black hair was pulled tightly back in some elegant French hairstyle and her scarlet lips complemented her fair complexion exquisitely. She looked ready to take over the world. She probably was. Her blue eyes were sharp, but kind, or at least capable of kindness, and she regarded her son fondly.

"Well, Darling, here you are," she said with an easy, but formal smile.

"Yeah." _Is it still too late to change my mind?_

_Squib!_

"Stand up straight," Mrs. Potter said brusquely, and James automatically stopped slouching, hearing in his mind the sound of thick wooden rulers snapping against tabletops. He rubbed his hands behind his back, telling himself they didn't really burn. He stared down at his shoes until his mother lifted his chin with a finger. He looked up into her eyes and found them… moist. And unusually warm.

"Your first day of Hogwarts," she said smiling, not in her usual business-like tone. She said like a mother to her son. "Your father would say this is your first step into manhood."

"I'm sure he would if he were here," James said defiantly. Mrs. Potter ran a hand through her son's unruly black hair, tried to tidy it, then gave it up.

"He wanted to be here, James. But you know he had to –"

"Work," James finished, pulling away from his mother.

"Your father's an important man."

"I know," James sighed, defeated. James straightened up again, telling himself that it didn't matter. And that he wasn't lying.

"He's proud of you," she told him.

"I know," he answered, forcing a smile.

The train screamed and steam billowed into the air in a great stream. The clock on the platform read 10:58. Mrs. Potter straightened herself and cleared her throat, and so James did the same.

"Be sure to write home once you've settled in," she told him.

"I will," he answered with a courteous nod.

Unexpectedly, Mrs Potter approached her son and wrapped him in a tight hug. James tensed at first, but soon relaxed and returned the embrace. He closed his eyes and breathed in her perfume, and could recall bedtime stories and childish games and laughter and warmth. He remembered that his mother loved him.

He reminded himself that Gryffindors don't cry.

He pulled back first, and looked his mother in the eyes. She held his shoulders at arm's length, subtly refusing to let go completely. Her eyes were filled with shimmering liquid now, but the tears did not slip out. She had been a Gryffindor as well, after all.

"Have a good term, Darling," she said, and kissed him on the forehead. James smiled a small smile and said nothing, not trusting his voice not to waiver, or worse, crack. He turned back to his trolley and rolled it up to the closest train door. A couple older boys wearing shiny silver "P" badges helped him lug his trunk (which probably weighed as much as he did) onto the train. He was about to pull himself onto the train when heard his name practically snapped by a deep baritone voice. Feeling a sudden jolt in his stomach that he figured was surprise, James spun around and scanned the thick crowd, looking for the body that belonged to the voice. He pulled himself up onto the step of the train to give himself a little height, a better view, all the while feeling completely sure he'd imagined the voice. And then suddenly, he found himself staring into approaching hazel eyes.

"What are you doing here?" James asked through the lump forming in his throat. He automatically snapped to attention: back straight, shoulders squares, chin up. His muscles were pulled so tight he thought he might snap, oozing to the ground like over-boiled spaghetti.

The man walking brusquely towards him through the thick crowd was tall and lithe, and James knew he was solid muscle. The face was somewhat haggard and worn, with deep lines around the mouth and eyes, and the dark hair was greying visibly at the temples. The bespectacled eyes held no humour, and little warmth. He was no older than forty, but easily looked ten years older. He wore dark robes (or it could have been a long coat) open over dark clothes, and it fluttered ominously behind him as he approached.

James swallowed hard and stood his ground. He tried to look tough. He felt nauseous.

When he reached the train, the man, holding James in place with his firm gaze, wordlessly reached into the pocket in his coat (or robe). James stiffened, but did not dare move. The man pulled out a slender wooden box and handed it to the boy, who blinked stupidly once and took it with a baffled expression. James looked up at the man with a furrowed brow, his own bespectacled eyes asking his multitudes of questions for him.

"Dad…" was the only thing that managed to escape his lips.

"Have a good term, son," the man, James's father, said almost conversationally.

"Thanks," was all James managed to say, slipping the box into his back pocket, next to his wand, his hand shaking causelessly. As he fumbled with the thing, trying to ensure that it wouldn't fall out and be lost, he felt a large, calloused hand clap him sharply on the shoulder.

"Loosen up, kid, you look like you're going keel over. You're not going to war."

At these words, James felt a surge of heat flood to his head, and yet he somehow couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his face. He felt all of his muscles relax as he realised he'd been being stupid. His father was right, he wasn't going to war, he was going to school. And he didn't have to try to impress his parents, because there they were, both standing on the platform, already proud. A lightness settled in his heart as excitement and determination took the place of the nerves that had been accompanying him since the moment he'd awaken, at the crack of dawn that morning.

He turned and started to leave when he heard his name again. He looked back at his father, who was now standing with his wife. His dark clothes and scruffiness contrasted sharply with the light business suit and immaculate appearance of the woman beside him, but somehow it matched.

He was still going to impress them, though. He'd make them proud.

"Write home the minute you get a chance, otherwise your mother will fret and I'll have hell to pay."

James couldn't help but laugh. "Bye Dad," he said, smiling fondly at his parents. He turned around and marched into the train, his chin held high, his posture perfect, just like he owned the place. Just like a Pureblood.


	2. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: See last page.**

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_If there had been a clock in the room, or crickets, the noise they made would have seemed deafening._

_There were no crickets, though, and one could only guess the time based on the position of the sun, and only if they knew how, and only if they cared to. And so it was the silence that robbed people of their senses. And not just hearing, but taste, smell and colour perception seemed to be affected as well. _

_Which was odd._

_The tension was almost a tangible thing, like the humidity in the air before a thunderstorm, right before the pressure breaks. The kind that makes everything all wet and sticky and you feel like you'll never be dry again. The kind that seeps into your lungs and fills them until you drown. You could drown in this tension._

_So I'm just going to sit in my corner and keep my head down. And, God willing, maybe we'll all make it to our first day in one piece. _

_The optimist in me doubts it. The pessimist has already jumped. _–_Journal Entry, Sept. 1, 1971. 'The Train': Observations (RJL)_

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_**PROLOGUE **_

_**Musings of Over-Active and Under-Stimulated Mind**_

Eyes bore into the back of his head, and would not turn away. James, who was looking out the window, determinedly trying to avoid a confrontation (since he figured being written up for brawling would be a poor way to start his schooling career), couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand this kid, this boy, who just sat all sprawled out over an entire bench like he owned the place, arms draped over the back of the seats, one leg up, the other flung to the ground, purposely taking up as much space as possible, just because he could and just because no one was telling him not to. He couldn't stand the arrogance that radiated from him in almost visible waves, like a pulsating aura that grew outwards inch by inch until it consumed everything within a given radius, and any semi-sapient being within that radius would be left broken and mad, tearing out their hair and screaming their throats raw to relieve themselves from an unholy taint they would never be rid of. He couldn't stand the way he just stared, and wouldn't stop staring, and would stare until his eyes fell out or until he, James, finally caved and walked right up to him and punched him in his pretty aristocratic face until his eyes were swollen shut and he couldn't stare any more.

James couldn't stand this kid so much he was getting winded just thinking about how much he couldn't stand him.

They hadn't liked each other from the moment they'd seen each other. There had been no particular reason, no confrontation whatsoever. From the moment James had opened the compartment door and their eyes had met, a nerve had been stuck. Two nerves, since James was more than certain the feeling of distinct animosity was in fact mutual. It was a rivalry born in a second, to be fought to the death. There would be no amends, no truce, no suing for peace.

It was instant war. You didn't even have to add water.

But James had been raised a gentleman, and was a Potter, and it is not good form to walk up and kick someone you've only just met. So he'd nodded to this other, who was lounged back and looking far too comfortable to be a lowly first year (so James assumed he wasn't), and had taken a seat at the far end of the compartment, next to the window, because the train had started moving and all sorts of upperclassmen had been herding younger students into whatever compartment they would fit in, and James hadn't had a choice.

And then came the staring.

* * *

James's heel tapped against the carpeted floor of the compartment. It still made an irritating thumping sound. At least James hoped it was irritating. It was certainly irritating him. Not so much the sound, just the fact that he was doing it, and couldn't seem to stop. And if he was being irritated by it, then he had better be irritating someone else. 

It was the most disconcerting sensation James had ever experienced. Hours had gone by, days even (he didn't know how long it took to get to Hogwarts from London; it could be days…), and the kid still hadn't blinked. It was Madam Folkes all over again, the Governess with the hawk eyes and razor talons and no sense of humour whatsoever, and James hadn't finished his lessons (and may or may not have stuck Fizzing Whizbies in her crumpets). Except this kid did have a sense of humour, or at least he thought he did. He was staring for his own sick delight. He thought it was funny. Nothing more amusing than the slow torture of your enemies.

The longer James stared out the window, the more aware he became of the set of eyes that bore into the back of his skull. It made him anxious, though he struggled not to show it. His heel still tapped furiously against the floor, faster all the time, and his hand was clenched onto his trouser leg in a tight fist, so he figured it wasn't working. There wasn't much to look at outside anymore. They had gotten to the countryside. Farmland. Miles and miles of grass. A cow here and there. A bunny being chased by a fox (the train was moving so fast that James never got the chance to see if the rabbit had gotten away.) No fires, or tornados, or alien wreckages or other natural disasters capable of holding the fickle attention of the eleven-year-old-boy mind. Just the feeling of being watched, being stared at.

If his leg started shaking any harder, he was liable to lose it.

* * *

James's heel had stopped tapping. It had run out of fuel. It was still buzzing slightly, from exhaustion, but no longer was it potentially irritating anyone but him. And he was very irritated. He couldn't even remember exactly what he was irritated with, because all he'd seen for the past hundred thousand kilometres was green. He hadn't known there was this much green in England. Or were they in Scotland now? Or maybe Canada. Or Greenland. No, Greenland is ice, Iceland is green. 

He hated green. If he hadn't before, which he was pretty sure he had, he definitely hated it now. Horrible colour, green. It was really green that he was irritated with. Especially grass. He wasn't terribly fond of cows either. Cows, and all their spots, and their beady black eyes, staring, always staring. Like that kid sitting across from him. And then James remembered _exactly_ why he was feeling irritated. It amazed him that he'd ever forgotten. Thinking about it, he figured he'd somehow managed to block it out, or compartmentalize his brain to save the important bits.

Then, simply to drive him to the very edge of madness, James felt another set of eyes on him. Had this kid really grown a whole other set of eyes, just to bother him? He wouldn't be able to take much more. One set of staring eyes was more than enough, almost more than he could stand. The back of his neck started prickling, then burning. His leg tapped the floor again, its strength mysteriously renewed, and he struggled to breathe normally. He was pretty sure his head was going to explode. Good, then that kid and all his staring eyes would be covered in exploded brain matter. Let him explain _that_ to the professors.

James had been so busy imaging this very event that it took him a moment to realize that only one set of eyes was on him once again. It was amazing how much relief it provided. The universe seemed right again, if a little to the left. He now only felt mild frustration, as opposed to blinding aggravation. The relief was short lived though, and the second set of eyes returned. James wanted to scream. He didn't, though. But it would have been nice.

Unable to resist, James tore his gaze from the oh-so-stimulating English countryside and glanced (not peered, he made sure, because peering implied interest or paranoia, and he was neither) over his shoulder. Funny, he hadn't noticed the other occupant of the compartment: a delicate looking boy huddled into his own little corner, buried under patched tweed and scruffy brown hair and a rather large book. He could have been a child from the Victorian era, or a miniature history professor, if not for the well-used trainers visible beneath his trouser cuffs. This boy would glance up from his book (whether it was for reading or for writing in, James was not entirely sure), cast a glance over at the boy who was still quite blatantly staring at James, and then at James himself, and then hide himself behind his book again. He would wait a few moments, then he would repeat this process. He obviously wanted no confrontation, but his curiosity had started to get the better of him.

James hadn't realized he'd been staring until he was suddenly gazing into a set of startling gold eyes. James jolted back to reality, trying hard not to blush. That really could have been taken the wrong way. How would he feel if some strange guy were staring at him?

_Irritated,_ he answered himself mentally. _But now I'll have to add 'disturbed' and 'violated' to the list. Brilliant._

James turned and smiled brightly at the boy in the corner, trying hard to come off friendly as opposed to creepy. The boy's mouth twitched at the corner, James was pretty sure, and he nodded in acknowledgement. About half of the boy's face was hidden by the old leather book he had propped up on his knee, and half of that half was obscured by his large, fluffy white quill. Still, his golden eyes (which may or may not glow in the dark) watched him carefully.

"'Lo there," James said cheerily. "Didn't even see you there when I came in." James waited for the boy to reply. He didn't, so James tried again. "What are you doing off in that corner anyway?" The boy shrugged his shoulders, and the quill shuddered back and forth.

"Seemed like as good a place as any," the boy said, and that was it. James smiled at him for a moment longer. His eyes darted to and from the golden eyes that still watched him studiously. They flickered briefly to the set of dark eyes that hadn't left him since he'd entered the compartment.

Starting to feel stupid, and not a little awkward, James muttered "Right then," and turned back to the window.

Merlin, he hated the colour green.

* * *

James figured he must have fallen asleep at some point. They'd been on this blasted train for at least a week, and yet, the sun was almost exactly where it had been eight hundred sheep ago. There were no more cows. Just fields of white fluff. Barely any green anymore. He almost missed green. It had been ages since he'd seen the colour. What if he forgot what it looked like? What if all the green in the world had vanished, and he didn't know because all he could see was expanses of white fluff, potential sweaters and Christmas dinner. His socks were green. He'd look at his socks. If they were still green, then that meant there had to – 

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

_Oh thank bloody God._

James jumped up and forward at the same time, tripping over his feet. Somehow landing upright, he rushed over to the food trolley, his ravenous gaze sweeping over the Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes and Cockroach Clusters. Well, he kind of glanced towards the Cockroach Clusters and grimaced, but everything else was fair game.

Digging into his pockets, James told the matronly woman that he'd take two of everything. He pulled out scrap parchment and candy wrappers, a handkerchief and some small explosives, and various other knickknacks an eleven-year-old boy carries in his trousers, and tossed them all onto his bench. He managed not to toss aside his wand (his pride and joy), or the mysterious wooden box his father had given him at the train station. Finally, he pulled out a handful of mainly silver coins. He handed the woman several of them, then went about making his selections.

While James sorted through the multitudes of sweets, the woman turned to the other two occupants of the compartment.

"Anything for you?" she asked the boy in the corner.

"No, thank you," the boy replied very politely, and pulled out a roast beef sandwich. "I've got a lunch packed."

The woman smiled and nodded, and then turned to the other boy. "And for you?" she asked.

James didn't hear the boy reply, but he must have since the woman bid them a good trip and pushed her trolley down the corridor. He glanced over at the boy in the corner, who has set his book print-side down on his lap and was stripping his sandwich of some sort of clear, clingy protective wrapping.

"What's that?" James asked, gesturing toward the sandwich. The boy looked up. His gold eyes always looked scrutinizing and not a little mistrustful. James was almost offended, except that he refused to be offended by strangers on principle.

"My lunch," the boy replied.

"Why didn't you get anything off the trolley?" James asked. "Loads more appetizing than that." He gestured at the sandwich again.

The boy looked down at the sandwich in his hands. "I like roast beef," he said. James shrugged.

"You want some candy?" James asked when the silence became uncomfortable.

"No, thank you," the boy replied, again very politely.

"Oh come on, I can't eat this all myself!" James protested. The boy gave him an appraising look.

"Then why'd you buy it all?" he asked reasonably.

"Well I figured I'd be sharing," James replied frankly. The boy gave him an odd look, like he was considering, or reconsidering something. "Come on, have some chocolate. It does the body good," James insisted.

"I can't have chocolate. I'm lactose intolerant," the boy replied blandly. James, deciding to stall for some time, smiled.

"Oh," was the best he could come up with. The boy went back to unwrapping his sandwich, but turned his head when a packet of Liquorice Wands that landed next to him. The Wands were soon followed by packs of Fizzing Whizbies, Cauldron Cakes, and Every Flavoured Beans. James, munching on a squirming chocolate frog while reading the card that had accompanied it, could feel the boy look up at him, but decided that ignoring him would be the best way to get what he wanted. After all, he was just being friendly, and there was nothing wrong with that. Although, he figured it was bad manners to share with one person and not the other, so he grudgingly tossed a few pasties and a package of Cockroach Clusters to the other boy without looking. He heard them land on the other bench with a thud, but didn't hear any indication that the boy took them. Oh well, no one could say he didn't try.

* * *

"I'm going to explore," James announced, standing up, a dozen or so candy wrapper falling from his lap. The boy in the corner looked up. The other boy had already been staring at him, so he didn't really move. Neither of them said anything, so James left. 

He wandered down the practically empty corridors, down to the end of the car. It wasn't a long walk, so James went through to the next car. He wandered down to the end of the train, dodging around upperclassmen when he had to. Most of them didn't notice him. A few of them did notice, and pretended they hadn't. The door to the engine was locked, and remained so, no matter how politely he knocked. James pouted at this, but decided he didn't really care. Soon enough, James got bored and started to head back towards his car.

The problem was, James couldn't exactly remember which car he was in, never mind which compartment. This wouldn't have been a real problem for him, considering his travel-mates, except that all of his luggage, and more importantly his candy, was in that compartment. He decided on process of elimination.

James wandered down the hallways, peeking his head into compartments as he passed. He was yelled at several times, and had things thrown at him more than once. He'd even had to dodge a jinx or two when he'd accidentally peeked into a compartment where a couple of older students had been…

_Let's _not_ think about that, shall we?_

A few students were chatting quietly ahead of him, and James swore he recognized at least one of the voices. It wasn't unlikely; he knew plenty of people, thanks to of dinner parties and Ministry affairs and other stupid things his mother dragged him to. He knew plenty of people, but he very rarely remembered who they were. He met so many of these people, and they were all the same, he just didn't bother to remember them all. Ministry brats. The most stuffy, boring, arrogant, hypocritical bunch in existence Even the children. There was no point in trying to remember them all; if you've met three, you've met them all; the crowd-pleaser, the doormat, and the arrogant prick Society in a nutshell.

The boy ahead of him, though, was one he did know, and knew quite well. James had pretty much idolized him since he was a kid (a _little_ kid – eleven isn't a kid).

"Ahoy there, Frank old chap!" James bellowed down the corridor. The older students all turned, and the one that was Frank shook his head.

"James Potter. How'd you manage to sneak aboard?" Frank asked casually. His friends were sniggering, but he ignored them. That was what was so great about Frank: everyone was his equal, until they proved themselves inferior. And there was no superior. At fifteen years old, Frank could chat politics with the Minister for Magic, then turn around and discuss Quidditch with an eleven-year-old boy like it was the same thing. But if you offended him, usually by insulting anyone else, you didn't exist. And if you didn't exist to Frank Longbottom, you didn't matter. Frank's father was a very influential political figure, and was known to advise the Minister himself. His mother – well, she was a piece of work, and very well respected in her own right. _Formidable_ was the word James's mother liked to use to describe Augusta Longbottom. Frank was the pride and joy of his parents, he was everything they'd dreamed he'd be, and already people in the Ministry were waiting for great things from him. He could even be the next Minister for Magic. James wouldn't put it past him.

At this point, James was saying something witty about stowing away in a barrel of mead, and possibly something about scurvy. He wasn't really listening. Frank cocked an eyebrow.

"You know you're not a pirate, right?" he asked slowly, folding his arms across his chest,

"Aar." Frank sniffed a laugh and approached James.

"All right, Potter? Staying out of trouble?" Frank asked conversationally.

"Naturally," James replied, grinning in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable. But not Frank Longbottom.

"Uh huh," was Frank's reply.

"What about you Frank? Why're you skulking about?" James asked.

"I'm not skulking, I'm patrolling," Frank told him. James raised an eyebrow and Frank pointed to the shiny silver badge pinned to his chest.

"P?" James asked, looking at the badge.

"Prefect," said Frank. "It means I'm supposed to make sure little blighters like you aren't wreaking any havoc."

"Hey, I bathe," James answered smartly. Frank rolled his eyes. "So Frank," James continued slyly. "Where's the better half? Anna or whatever."

"_Alice_ is around somewhere," Frank replied sharply, glaring at James, but without any genuine conviction. James took it as a sign of safety and general goodwill.

"You lost your girlfriend?" James said, grinning.

"I did not lose my girlfriend. I am patrolling. She is – doing something else."

"How come she's not patrolling with you?" James asked.

"Alice isn't a Prefect yet," Frank replied.

"Yet?"

"She's only in third year," Frank informed James. "But she's sure to get it in her year. She's made for the part."

"Only in third year? Feeling your age already, Frank? Need to go after the younger ladies?" Frank gave James a disturbed look.

"You are the strangest kid I've ever met, Potter." Frank told him flatly. James smiled. "I'll have you know that I've known Alice all my life, and two years is hardly of any consequence, especially in matters of the heart." James pretended to gag.

"Merlin, Frank, you sound like you're going to marry her," James said, still bent at the waist, clutching his middle.

"I intend to," Frank told him matter-of-factly. James looked at him.

"Does she know that?" Frank turned and looked out a window.

"Get to your compartment, Potter, and change into your school robes. We should be getting there soon."

* * *

James was staring out the compartment window, humming muggle show tunes. He wasn't even sure how he knew the tune. Or if the tune was even right, for that matter. "Dodo dodo dodo dodo do. _Downtown!_" It was something like that. But that was all he knew. How he knew even that, he had no idea. He'd never been to a muggle show. At least he thought not. His mother could have slipped something into his afternoon tea at some point and dragged him off to one while he was too doped up to do anything about it (like burn his dress robes or shave his head). 

He was wearing his school robes now (not his tie; he wouldn't be putting that on until he absolutely had to), and sat staring out his window. The sky was a bright show of reds, oranges and yellows, and he could see mountains in the distance. When he'd gotten back to his compartment after his little chat with Frank, the sky had still been blue, and there had been no mountains anywhere in sight (but no sheep either). Frank was a liar.

So James had been staring out the window for the past – well, he'd gone through the rest of his candy, and was now feeling particularly sick. In fact, he'd been looking out the window so long that the kid staring at him didn't even bother him anymore. But the fact that he wasn't bothered didn't seem to bother the kid either, and, in fact, the only one who seemed at all bothered was the kid in the corner, who was chewing on a Liquorice Wand and staring at a different book, and trying very hard to ignore them both and failing. James had to wonder how hard it was to ignore two people who weren't doing anything.

* * *

It was dark now. James had been beginning to wonder whether the sun was permanently stuck in the sky. His legs itched and he couldn't feel his backside. He'd wandered up and down the train corridors three more times since his encounter with Frank, just to make sure his muscles hadn't atrophied. Not too long ago, before his final excursion (this time, to find a toilet) another student wearing a shiny silver "P" on her robes had come in and told them it wouldn't be too much longer before they reached the Hogsmeade station, and that they should all be in their school robes. She had given James an approving smile before she left, noting that, being the responsible young lad he was, he was already in his robes. 

When he'd gotten back, his compartment-mates had both been wearing their school robes – black, floor length gowns with a blazing crest on the left breast, white collared shirts and ties. James had grimaced and put on his own tie at that point, keeping it loose around his throat. Pouting, he'd lounged back on his bench, throwing his feet up on the seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

Suddenly, the train shuddered ominously, and James hiccoughed in surprise. He grabbed onto the back of his bench with one hand, the seat with his other, and braced himself. Oh, they were going to die. The train rocked back and forth, and James squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the loud scream of the steam engine. He peeked out and saw the boy in the corner giving him a strange look. He looked perfectly calm and not at all like he was about to die. Which led James to believe he was perhaps overreacting just a touch. James slid up into a slightly more dignified position and realized that the train was simple shuddering to a halt. He sighed a great heavy sigh of exhaustion and relief and then clambered to his feet. The boy in the corner packed away his heavy book (which hadn't turned a page since he'd pulled it out, James noticed) and all of his wrappers as well before he left. James looked about him at the mess he'd made, but figured someone would be along to pick it all up.

James went to pull his trunk out of the luggage rack when a loud voice sounded, telling the students to leave their baggage in their compartments, and that someone would be along shortly to collect them. Which brought James crashing back to the reality of his situation. Hogwarts. The beginning of the end, whatever that end may be. He was to be Sorted tonight, he knew, and that where he was placed would be a part of him for the rest of his life. Every adult he knew that had gone through Hogwarts (which was most of them) remained close with their Housemates, and particularly their roommates, long after they'd graduated. The animosities they'd formed had become lasting feuds. Enemies made at Hogwarts generations ago had been passed down along bloodlines. Your House defined who you were in the world, and what you were good for. James's parents had both been Gryffindors, as had his grandparents. It was who they were. It was who he had to be.

James was making to leave the compartment when the other boy stepped up to him. The boy stood facing him, his back straight and his chin up. He was taller than James, bigger than him in general, but James noticed the generic grey tie and Hogwarts emblem on his robes, marking him as a first year. (_Asses and assumptions,_ James thought to himself). Even on close inspection, his face seemed to be made of marble, the strong jaw line and sharp cheekbones carved, smoothed and polished with neurotic care. His dark hair fell in feathery wisps around his face and neck, not long exactly, but not quite proper. He still stared, but not in the wide-eyed, disturbing, and purposefully annoying way he had been before. His dark grey eyes seemed to look at him and through him at the same time. The true mark of good breeding.

The boy sniffed derisively and cocked an eyebrow. Something shifted in the boy's dark eyes, and James felt…uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what it was exactly. So he did the only thing he knew how: he stood his ground and glared back. The boy's lip curled into a roguish smirk, and it looked like he just might bite.

"You're a bit of a twitchy thing, aren't you?" he said carelessly, then turned and swept out of the room, leaving James standing and staring at where his back had been.

James was fuming, and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't the blatant insult attached to the remark, although he was sure that was part of it. He felt as though he was missing something. He knew he recognized the boy's face, if not the boy himself, but he couldn't match it with a name. He ought to be able to.

Then James realized something that filled him with a burning joy, and all other thoughts and worries were pushed promptly from his mind.

_He spoke first. That means I won._

A self-satisfied smile spread slowly across James's face, and he strolled out onto the Hogsmeade platform, ready to take on whatever destiny had to throw at him.

* * *

_A/N: I know this chapter probably seems ridiculous and unnecessary (it usually does to me), but it is actually supposed to really introduce James's character. This story is mostly going to be about character development, interactions, etc, although I'm going to try to incorporate an actual story line, so as not to bore you all to death. No promises, though ._


	3. Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER: See last page.**

"_There's nothing like the first day of school to make you question everything you've ever believed." -James Potter, upon reflection._

* * *

_**CHAPTER ONE **_

_**The Approaching Curve **_

The weather outside had turned bad suddenly. Lightning ripped through the dark night sky, momentarily leaving the impression of a gaping white maw seared into one's vision. A loud crack of thunder followed not three counts later, and seemed to shake the very earth to its core. The wind sounded like a thousand tortured souls screaming in agony for the sweet relief of death. The flames in streetlamps flickered wildly, threatening to go out and leave them all to the mercy of the all-encompassing darkness. The bitter cold seeped right into the bones, and James wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. His cloak was packed away in his trunk, along with the rest of his winter clothes; it had still been summer this morning, and there had been no need for them.

James stood on the platform amidst the hundreds of other students all waiting for instruction. Many of them were huddled together to protect themselves from the cutting wind, and to provide each other comfort. Lightning tore through the sky again, and this time the thunder followed sooner. James felt something heavy hit his neck, like a shard of ice slashing him. When he felt at the spot, his hand came away wet. It was only rain, but it was cold enough to burn. James tucked his bare hands back under his armpits and looked around for some sign of direction. People were brushing past him, knocking into his shoulders as often as not. He thought he heard someone bellowing from somewhere, but the sound was obscured by the wind and the thunder and it was impossible to tell exactly from where it had originated.

James spotted Frank starting away from the station with a group of older students, his arms wrapped protectively around a smaller girl, who was leaning close into him. James ducked and dodged around other students and made his way over.

"Oy, Frank!" he yelled over the roaring wind. Frank turned around and smiled easily, contrasting with the sullen and miserable faces of the other students.

"All right, Potter?" he called out.

"A bit chilly," James answered with a tight grin. "Hey, d'you know where I'm supposed to go?" Frank turned his head and gestured to his left.

"Follow Hagrid," he told James.

"Who's Hagrid?" James practically had to yell. Thunder rumbled loudly in the distance.

"The big bloke with the lantern," Frank yelled back. His friends were saying something to him and he turned to leave. "See you at the castle, Potter. Good luck!"

"Yeah, thanks," James called to Frank's retreating back. James turned to where Frank had indicated and saw a flickering light bobbing high above the heads of the students. The figure accompanying the small light was calling something, but James couldn't quite make it out. He squeezed into the crowd towards the light, finding he was moving fairly quickly since all the other students seemed to be heading the same way. As James got closer, he was finally able to discern the form of a very large man indeed.

"Firs' Years, this way!" the man was bellowing. He turned and headed off into the darkness. James followed along with the other students, down a treacherous muddy path practically hidden amongst the thick trees. Someone hit James's shoulder hard, and he nearly fell face-first.

"Watch it!" James snapped, stumbling forward.

"Sorry," the other said at the same time, grabbing James's arm and helping to steady him. James stood and turned to the one who'd hit him. It was the boy from the train, the one who'd been staring at him. The boy's genuinely apologetic expression turned quickly to a contemptuous sneer. "No need to be rude, it was an accident," the boy said coldly.

"Oh I'll bet it was," James snapped back, pushing roughly past him. The boy followed.

"Whatever." James growled furiously and kept marching forward. The other boy was following quickly behind him, his long strides quickly eating up the distance between them. James turned quickly on his heel to face him.

"Why are you following me?" he demanded.

"I'm not following you," the boy replied stonily. "I am walking, and you just happen to be in my way." Lightning lit the sky briefly, but it took four counts for the thunder to follow.

A little ways ahead there was a curve in the path, and a boy lay facedown in the mud, a small group of students stood around him sniggering. James shot the group the dirtiest look he was capable of and they sneered at him and walked on. The boy on the ground was slowly making his way onto his feet, shaking slightly, and probably not entirely from the cold. James strode over and scooped the boy up by his arm, hauling him to his feet with more than a little effort. The boy was short, but he wasn't exactly small.

"All right, mate?" James asked, tugging the boy by the sleeve to get him moving. The boy nodded. "Buncha rotten gits," James muttered under his breath, glaring ahead at the backs of the students he could no longer see. "This is so stupid," James muttered angrily after a moment. "Why are they making us _walk_ the whole way?"

"A test of character," the boy from the compartment replied, even though James hadn't asked him. "A way to weed out the weak. If you survive the journey, then you're worthy. If not, well, I'm sure they'll find your body eventually." The smaller boy paled in the face.

"That's sick," James told him. The boy shrugged.

"Maybe it's just tradition, then." With that, he turned and stalked away. James stood glaring at his back for a moment before continuing on his own way.

"Thanks," the small boy said quietly. James turned his head and gave him a sure smile.

"Don't worry about it. But come on, we've got to keep moving. Sooner we get inside, the better." The boy nodded and they continued onwards. James tilted his head to see above the heads of the students. Up ahead, he saw the boy from the compartment roughly shove his way through a group of students. Vaguely, James registered that it was the same students that had been hassling the small boy who was still following close to him, but decided not to think anything of it as he tucked his arms closer around him and marched on, head bowed against the wind.

Thunder cracked loudly around them again, and the tree branches shuddered violently. The small boy beside James jumped, but said nothing. Through the dark, rustling leaves, James could see an expansive field of black. James squinted, trying to make sense of it. It looked like someone had spilled ink all over the land. He wiped his glasses off on his robes and looked again. Then lightning struck and was mirrored in the blackness, and James realized that they had reached the Hogwarts Lake.

As they got closer, and eventually left the semi-shelter of the trees, James caught sight of an enormous stone castle surrounded by mist, sitting atop a veritable mountain of jagged stone. The lights glowing in the turret windows looked warm and inviting, and James, whose shoes squished every time he took a step, tried to remember what it felt like to be comfortable. Soon, he could make out a small armada of rowboats sitting on the shoreline. He could also see the large waves being pushed about by the ever-persistent winds. And fleetingly, he could have sworn he saw an enormous tentacle smash the surface of the water, creating a huge wave all its own.

"All right, ev'ryone, in 'ya get! No more 'an four ter a boat!" the large man with the lantern bellowed. James shuddered.

"This can't be safe," he muttered.

"They wouldn't make us do it if it wasn't safe, would they?" the small boy asked nervously.

"Probably not. They wouldn't get as much money that way," James said. The boy gave him an indecent look. "I'm joking!" James said, grinning tightly and rolling his eyes. "Tuition's paid in advance, after all. Well, come on then."

James led his small companion, who seemed insistent on following him, towards the small boats. All of them were occupied, and most of them were already full. Mercifully, James saw that the annoying boy from the train ride was already in a boat, accompanied by three other students. He then noticed his other travel-mate, the boy with the big gold eyes, sitting alone in a boat, breathing hot air onto his hands and rubbing them together. James led the way towards this boat.

"D'you mind if we join you?" he asked. The boy looked up, and it did indeed seem that his eyes glowed in the dark.

"Sure," the boy said. They climbed in and sat where they could without getting into each other's personal space.

"Onward!" cried the large man, who had a boat to himself, and all of the small boats moved forward on their own. The cold wind was still blowing about fiercely, cutting through the thin material of their robes as if it wasn't even there. The boys all huddled into themselves, trying to retain whatever body heat they had left. The wooden boat swayed dangerously back and forth, threatening to tip, and James had to fight back the sickness rising in his throat.

And he definitely saw a huge tentacle.

The three boys sat shivering in silence for the entirety of the journey across the lake, listening to the crashing waves surrounding them as the castle loomed ever closer, until finally it was right on top of them. The boats docked in a dank stone cavern beneath the castle. Ivy crawled up the sides of the walls and over the floor, and the students had to take care not to trip over it. The large man led the first-year students up a steep set of stairs that seemed to have been carved out of the side of the cavern. James really hoped no one near the top slipped – there wasn't a whole lot of room to manoeuvre, so if one person fell, the lot of them would be going down hard.

The stairs seemed to climb the cliff on which the school was perched, for in a not so short amount of time, James found himself walking over flat ground, the expansive lake spread out behind him one way, and the glowing castle looming in front of him the other way. Even in the frigid torrential rain, the view was breathtaking, and James felt strangely comforted for a moment. The large man knocked heavily on an impressive wooden door at the top of another set of steps, these ones smooth and even and flanked by stone statues. The door opened instantly, revealing a severe-looking witch wearing long blue robes, a pointed hat, and square, wire-rimmed spectacles.

"The Firs' Years, Professor," the large man said, nodding his head respectfully.

"Thank you, Hagrid," the witch replied. She shot the students a stern gaze. "If you would all follow me," she said, then swept away. The students followed without a word.

The professor led them through the largest, most elaborate hallway James had ever seen in his life and into a comparably small room. All James could think was, _this place is a school?_ When all of the first years were in the room, the witch shut the door and turned to address them.

"Good evening, students, I am Professor McGonagall," she told them. The room remained silent. "In a matter of moments, you will all be sorted into your appropriate Houses. The Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. I myself am the head of Gryffindor house.

The witch, Professor McGonagall, went on to describe the different houses and their different attributes. James tried to listen, but found himself distracted by a causeless buzzing in his head. He rubbed at his ear, thinking maybe water had gotten in and was keeping him from hearing properly, but to no avail. He watched the professor's stern gaze pass over the students, and his stomach gave a bit of an uncomfortable lurch when she found him in the crowd, making him feel as though he was already in trouble. He stood up straighter and tried to at least make it look like he was paying proper attention. Finally, after what seemed like an unreasonably long stretch of time, her gaze left him and continued over the crowd. James let out a shaky breath and tried, for once, to keep still.

"Rest assured that each House has its strengths and its weaknesses, and that no House is superior to another. You are _all_ students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Now, I shall return momentarily, when they are ready for you." The professor gave them all a final appraising look, then swept out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Whispers broke out at once among the students, all discussing which House they wanted to be sorted into, and how they were to be Sorted. Personally, James figured it would hurt. His mother had flat-out refused to tell him what the Sorting entailed. Even his uncle had been keen to keep it a surprise. He did tell James to prepare to be shocked. James had found that thoroughly unhelpful.

James looked about him and spotted the boy with the gold eyes standing alone near a wall. Glad to recognize someone, James made his way over.

"You know, I think I'm starting to be able to feel my fingers again," James told the boy, bending and unbending his fingers stiffly.

"I still can't feel my backside," the boy muttered quietly. James chuckled, a little surprised, but glad to have gotten a response.

"So, what d'you think?" James asked, nodding his head at the door Professor McGonagall had just left through. The boy looked at him, his brow furrowed slightly and his face looking funny in a way James thought meant he was chewing his cheek.

"Think about what?" he asked.

"The Sorting! Which House you want to be in," said James. James, of course, being a Hogwarts legacy, already knew all about the different Houses.

"Oh," the boy said, looking at his shoes. "Well I don't know, I haven't really thought about it. I'm really just glad to be here." He stopped talking suddenly, but before James could say anything, the boy started again. "Do you know which House you want to be in?"

"Gryffindor," James replied automatically, before the question was properly finished. The boy blinked owlishly in surprise.

"How come?" the boy asked.

"Weeeell," James started, drawing out the word to think of a way to explain what was so obvious to him, his eyes rolling to the ceiling in a dreamy sort of way. "Well, because. It's what I've always wanted. My dad was in Gryffindor. So was his dad, and so on, ya know? It's where everyone figures I'll end up."

"Is that it?" the boy asked after a brief pause. James looked at him, confused.

"What do you mean, is that it? What more is there?" he asked. The boy looked down at his shoes and shrugged.

James looked back down, smiling and waiting for a response.

"What?" James asked, if only to break the silence. The boy squirmed a little against the wall he was leaning against, looking as though he was struggling to get comfortable.

"Nothing," the boy said, still squirming, struggling to reach an itch on his back. "That seems perfectly fine. I mean, it makes sense."

"But you have something to say?" James said, feeling unreasonably defensive.

"No. I mean, well…" the boy said, still staunchly not looking at James.

"If you have an opinion, then by all means, say it!" James said, hoping he was sounding insistent rather then angry. The boy shifted again and took a deep breath, still staring at his shoes.

"Well…just, you never really mentioned anything about the House. I mean, they're all supposed to represent different things, but it just kind of seems like – but I could be wrong, I'm probably wrong – but…maybe you want to be in Gryffindor because it's expected of you." The boy stopped squirming and looked up at James. "But is it what you want?"

"Of course!" James replied instantly.

"Oh, okay then," the boy said with a tight smile, then looked away again.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, James's head swimming with half-questions and fragments of answers. "I guess I just didn't explain it very well," he concluded aloud, his mind still grasping for a proper thought.

"I guess," the boy replied quietly, looking miserable for some unknown reason.

Just then, the door opened and Professor McGonagall strode in. James turned back to the boy, but he was already skulking away, eyes directed at the floor in front of him. James, feeling a little confused and completely unnerved, looked at the professor.

"They're ready for you," she said, and the first years filed out of the room in a line.

* * *

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the Great Hall, a long roll of parchment in her hands. Next to her was an old three-legged stool with an even older hat sitting on it. The Hogwarts professors all sat at a long table directly behind her, watching the students before them. When the First Years had entered the hallway, any chatter amongst them had automatically ceased. Whether they were purebloods, muggleborns, or any combination thereafter, not a single one had ever seen anything that could compare with the majesty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Great Hall was illuminated by hundred of candles, floating high above their heads; the chamber itself was bigger than James would have thought possible. The temperature was no more or less than comfortable, although James could feel sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck.

The rest of the students all sat at their respective tables; Slytherins and Gryffindors were at opposite ends of the chamber, with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs acting as buffers between the two. (_And probably for good reason,_ James thought). The new first years stood single-file between the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, fidgeting nervously. A few of them were staring around at each other, or at McGonagall and the professors, or down at their feet. A good number more were staring upwards at a ceiling they weren't sure was there. Lightning still snapped above, illuminating the swirling grey clouds momentarily, and the vibrations of thunder could be felt in the very structure of the stone castle. Students, first year and on, looked up and watched large raindrops fall downwards, but never land.

And that was when the shabby old hat had broken out into song. The hat went on about all the different strengths and virtues of each individual House: Ravenclaw's wit; Hufflepuff's integrity; Gryffindor's valour; Slytherin's ambition. All very diplomatically put, James thought.

"Avery, Cecelia," McGonagall called out, and James's eyes snapped to the front of the room. A small girl with blonde ringlets and a pink mouth and cheeks shuffled quickly to the front of the room. She perched herself carefully on the stood and closed her eyes as the professor lowered the hat (which was far too big for her) onto her head.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat called out, and the table directly to James's left broke out into applause. The girl hopped off the stool and was greeted warmly by her new housemates.

James sighed heavily. All they had to do was try on a hat. No arm-wrestling a troll or outwitting a hippogriff or anything absurd like that.

"Adderley, Iain," was called next, and an uncomfortable-looking boy sat on the stool. James thought he looked like he had to go to the bathroom quite badly.

The hat took a little while longer before it shouted out "Slytherin!" James's lip turned into a small grimace and he rolled his eyes. Coming from a wizarding family, James already knew everything about the Houses. Ravenclaws, he'd been told, were clever, but could be crafty at times. Hufflepuffs were hard workers, but tended to be pushovers. They were generally nice people, though, and could be good to have around. And Slytherins – well, there was never a wizard or witch turned rotten in all of Britain that wasn't a Slytherin. As for Gryffindor, it was a truly noble House, and an honour to be a part of.

That's what he'd always been told, at least.

Professor McGonagall called out "Black, Sirius," and James, recognizing the name, looked forward interestedly. Ahead of him, the irritating boy from the train breathed deeply and marched to the front of the hall.

_That explains it,_ James thought, casting a glance to the Slytherin table. _No wonder he seemed familiar._

James immediately picked out a young woman near the end of the Slytherin table. She was older, probably in her sixth or seventh year, and was notably beautiful. Her cinnamon hair was pulled back tightly, showing off her long neck and full features. Her complexion and general disposition was fair, and her relation to the boy on the stool was unmistakable. Then, James's eyes were drawn further down the Slytherin ranks, near the centre of the table where another girl sat. She was younger than the first, and more striking than pretty, but still undeniably beautiful. Her long, straight raven-black hair framed her angular white face and accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were lined with thick black lashes and her full mouth was a bloody scarlet. Once again, the similarities between her and the other two were obvious. James felt nervous just looking at her, so he turned away.

James turned back to the front of the room, where the Black boy was still sitting with the hat on his head. Lightning flashed from above and James counted to seven before he felt rather than heard the following thunder. This was taking longer than it ought to.

_Just throw him in Slytherin and be done with it,_ James thought. _Everyone knows that all Blacks are Slytherins. He might as well have it tattooed on his forehead._

So James was understandably startled when the hat finally called out "Gryffindor!" The table to the far right cheered boisterously, beckoning their first new housemate of the year. The boy himself looked ghostly. He cast a glance over to the Slytherin table, and James's eyes followed. The older girl's expression was carefully schooled, but her light eyes looked troubled. The dark-haired girl farther down the table looked – dangerous. She hissed and spat at her housemates, and then fixed her relation with a stare that made James shiver. At the front of the hall, Black turned his back on the Slytherin table and walked over to be received by his new housemates.

At the same time, James was quickly reviewing everything he'd ever known about the Hogwarts Houses.

_Gryffindor is for the courageous, the valorous, the noble. Blacks have always been known for their elitism; that's a Slytherin trait. And as far as I know, the Blacks have always been devout Slytherins. Why would a Black be sorted into Gryffindor?_ James felt an uncomfortable stirring in his gut that he couldn't identify.

McGonagall had gotten to "Fawcett, Jessica," when James started paying attention again. He noted mentally that a few more Ravenclaws had been sorted, as well as some Slytherins and one other Gryffindor. Jessica Fawcett was the first Hufflepuff of the year.

James started paying only partial attention to the sorting when they reached "Lupin, Remus," and the other boy from the train ride was also sorted into Gryffindor. James was staring at the ceiling that wasn't quite a ceiling, watching the clouds swirl around each other. The rain had stopped, it seemed, and the lightning had become infrequent. James hummed to himself, not knowing what it was he was singing until he finally came to the inevitable "Downtown!" McGonagall had gone through the rest of the Ls, as well as the Ms and Ns. There were no Os.

Currently, "Pettigrew, Peter," who was the small boy that had all but attached himself to James during the trek through the muddy forest, was being sorted. James hadn't heard anything being said for a while, so he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Pettigrew had been all but lost inside the old hat, which he seemed to have broken. The boy himself was clutching the stool in a death grip, and was trembling visibly, although he looked as though he was trying hard not to. Professor McGonagall had just taken a step forward to remove the hat from the boy's head when it finally called out "Gryffindor!"

James stood shocked. He actually felt all the blood rush out of his face and down into his toes, and even felt a little dizzy. How could _that_ boy be a Gryffindor? He looked like he might start crying if you started talking too loudly in his general direction. He hadn't even _tried_ to stand up to those kids who had been picking on him earlier (all of whom had been sorted into Slytherin, James noted, except for one still waiting to be). And Lupin! The boy looked as though he might get blown over by a strong wind!

By the time the professor called out his name, James's brain felt slow and muddled. Nothing made sense. He was supposed to be a Gryffindor, he knew. He'd always known that. But – something didn't feel right. He was missing something. He'd been feeling it for a while, ever since the train, and had been growing steadily in intensity ever since, but he could not for the life of him figure it out. Just that something wasn't right. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. He wasn't sure what, but he knew he had to fix it.

Because if he didn't, he was sure to go insane.

James wandered up to the front of the Hall in something of a daze. He barely noticed when the professor placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

_Bit of a mess in here,_ a voice said in his head, and James jumped.

_What the hell?_ James thought. Or at least he thought he thought.

_Now, what kind of language is that for a young boy?_ the voice asked.

_What are you?_ James asked the voice, ignoring the question. _The hat?_

_Very astute,_ the hat said, and James was pretty sure he could sense sarcasm. _Regardless, you do have quite a mind. But far too much gall for your own good, I think, perhaps too much for Ravenclaw. And you're no Hufflepuff, oh no! However… I do believe I have just the place for you, boy._

_Gryffindor,_ James said.

_Slytherin,_ the hat told him. James jumped.

_Slytherin?_ James gaped. _I'm no Slytherin!_

_Why not?_ The hat asked. _Except for this grudge you seem to have against them, I think you would make for an ideal Slytherin. You've got the mind for it, and the attitude. I would think Salazar would be proud to have you in his House. Maybe even represent it someday._

_I'm not a Slytherin,_ James told the hat. _I'm a Gryffindor._

_What makes you so sure? Why is it so important for you to be a Gryffindor? How can you be sure you were meant to be there?_

_Be-because,_ James said nervously.

_You don't sound certain,_ the hat told him.

_I am, _James told the hat, focusing on everything his family had ever told him about the House. About the experience of it, and the benefits they gained from it. _I am sure. I want to be a Gryffindor._

_You would do very well in Slytherin,_ the hat insisted.

_I don't care. I want to be a Gryffindor._

_Very well._

The Sorting Hat called out "Gryffindor!" and James let out a deep breath. The hat was removed, and James saw his generic grey tie bleed colour until it was a vivid striped pattern of scarlet and gold. The Hogwarts crest of his robes swirled and was replaced by the Gryffindor emblem. James wandered over to the cheering table where Frank stood clapping and cheering loudly. His mind felt numb and distant. That wasn't how it was supposed to have gone. James looked around the table, at all of his housemates. He looked at Lupin, and Pettigrew, and Black, his roommates for the next seven years of his life. They all looked back at him; Pettigrew smiled nervously, and Lupin just watched. Black sort of glared stonily then turned away. James didn't know what to think about any of this.

He had no idea what he wanted anymore.

* * *

"…I am certain this year will prove to be a rewarding…up to the challenge. As Head Boy…proud to represent…"

James propped his head up on his hand, although it (the head, not the hand) threatened to slip off repeatedly. After the Sorting, Headmaster Dumbledore, a willowy old figure with long white hair and an even longer white beard, had stood up to address his students. The speech was sheer brilliance – he'd said a bit of gibberish, made some extravagant hand gestures, and told them all to "tuck in". James had taken an immediate liking to the man. However, this year's Head Boy – a very tall, very, very blond Slytherin seventh year – had insisted on making a speech after the Headmaster. He'd even dragged his Head Girl counterpart along with him.

And now, hours later (or so it seemed) his mindless drabble was numbing James's brain to a degree he had never thought possible to survive. James was actually inches away from picking up his dinner plate, which was still half full of the most delicious food he had ever tasted, and bashing himself repeatedly over the head with it. For a while, James clung to this image to create a mental shield from the blather pouring out of the Head Boy. When that got boring, James began mentally picturing silly moustaches on the Head Boy's face, and imagining what hair colour would suit him best, and in what style.

"…The Head Girl and I would particularly like to extend our welcome to the new First Year students…"

"What a ponce," James heard Black mutter from a few seats down. Black was glaring in the general direction of the Head Boy (probably to avoid looking directly at him and consequently going blind from the sheer brightness of the guy's hair) and was creating a vortex in his mess of mashed potatoes and gravy by spinning his fork around and around in it. James found this action to be strangely hypnotic, and far more interesting that the Head Boy (who James agreed was definitely a ponce).

"What on Earth are you doing?" James asked finally. Black looked up, still spinning his fork.

"What's it to you?" he replied. James sniffed.

"You know, those used to be perfectly good potatoes," James said.

"They're still good potatoes," Black said with a hint of a smirk. With his fork, Black scooped up some potato, which had taken on the general consistency of slime, and flung at the wall. The potato stuck fast momentarily, then began to ooze its way slowing downwards.

"How's your distance with that thing?" James asked, looking in the direction of the Head Boy still standing at the front of the room. A glob of potato zoomed past James's ear, and he turned to face Black, who was still holding his fork in attack position.

"A sight better than my aim, I think," Black said with a smirk.

"Prick," James snarled.

"Have you got anything to add, Miss Black?" the Head Boy asked, turning to the Head Girl for the first time.

"No, I think you've just about covered everything, Lucius," she told him graciously. He nodded, and the two of them went to their table to scattered applause.

Dessert passed by fairly uneventfully. James had chatted for a bit with Frank and his girlfriend Alice (whom James had known for just as long as he'd known Frank, if not as well. He'd simply always enjoyed teasing Frank about her, first for their friendship, and now their relationship). James had also tried to strike up a conversation with his other housemates, figuring he ought to make the best of an unsure situation. Both Lupin and Pettigrew seemed reluctant to talk, though. But whereas Pettigrew was just shy, Lupin seemed withdrawn – he spoke only when spoken to, and with as few words as possible, but he was not as obviously nervous as Pettigrew, who stammered over his works and had a permanent pink colour in his face.

Now that the meal was over, the headmaster was giving his proper speech, which, thankfully, was much less dreary than the Head Boy's had been.

"…Mr. Filch has posted a list of these banned items on the events boards in each of your common rooms, as well as on the door of his office. Possession or use of these items will result in automatic detention.

"Also, the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, which means entry without specific facultative permission is strictly prohibited. In relation, I would like to point out a recent addition to our grounds. The Whomping Willow, which is located near the edge of the forest, can be particularly disagreeable, and should be avoided if one wishes to avoid great deals of pain.

"And on that note, to bed with you all!"

The final traces of a most wonderful dessert vanished and all of the students in the Great Hall stood and stretched. James, now that he was fed and warm again, felt comfortably full and not a little sleepy. He ran a hand mindlessly through his ruffled hair, and looked about him for some sign of direction. He could have sworn he heard someone trying to say something above the din of the crowd, but all of the students, not only the Gryffindors, were chatting loudly, effectively drowning out any sound quieter than an explosion.

"Oy! Shut up you lot!"

Or Frank.

The talking amongst the Gryffindors ceased immediately and Frank hopped down from the bench he'd been standing on. "They're all yours, Meadowes," he told his fellow Prefect.

"Right then," said Meadowes, a pleasant-looking girl with a long blond ponytail. "First years are to follow us, please. Everyone else is to head up to the common room."

"Right," Frank said. "Everyone who knows where they're going, start moving. If you get to the common room before a Prefect, sit tight and one will be sure to come along with the password."

The older students all made their way out of the Great Hall, leaving the First Year Gryffindors with their two Fifth Year prefects. "Now for the rest of you, a quick tour of Hogwarts. Or as quick as a tour of Hogwarts can be – it's a pretty big school." A collective groan broke out among the crowd.

"Can't we do the tour tomorrow?" a girl with short brown curls asked with a practiced pout.

"No," Frank answered bluntly. More groans came from the First Years. "Oh come on! It'll be good for you! Work off some of that supper."

"I like my supper where it is, thanks," James called out. The other First Years laughed or agreed.

"Saucy little bunch, aren't they?" Frank said to Meadowes, who rolled her eyes. "D'you lot want to go to bed?" Frank called out to the First Years. They all muttered 'yes' at once. "Good. 'Cause the sooner we get this tour out of the way, the sooner we can all go to bed. And no, you don't have a choice." The First Years groaned collectively again. Frank and Meadowes both laughed.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Meadowes said, leading the group out of the Great Hall. "Mind the staircases – they like to move."

* * *

"Bed!" James cried upon entering the First Year dormitory. He immediately rushed over to a four-poster bed, checking quickly to see that it was indeed his trunk sitting in front of it, and collapsed face-first onto the soft mattress. It was a _very_ soft mattress, with thick comforters and nice squishy pillows. It all smelled of wood and potpourri. He could see himself very happy here.

"What does she mean, the staircases like to move?" Pettigrew asked in a wavering voice from his corner of the room. Or, from what would have been the corner, were the room not round.

"Mmrh," said James, his face very thoroughly muffled by his pillow.

And that was the end of the conversation in the room. Each boy located their bed and basically kept to their section of the room. It was a fairly large room, with four four-poster beds and an empty spot that looked as though there ought to be one more. Each bed was accompanied by small wooden tables on either side. There was only one writing table, though, and James wondered how exactly that was going to work. There was a small bathroom connected to the room as well, but it was rather primitive. It consisted of nothing more than a toilet, a sink, a single shower stall, and a small amount of storage space.

James finally rolled himself off his bed and started to dig through his trunk for some sleepwear. He pulled out an old Puddlemere United jersey and a pair of plaid trousers and glanced about the room. Pettigrew was standing near his bed holding a pair of blue pyjamas in his hand, looking rather sheepish. Lupin had locked himself in the bathroom to change. Black was stripping out of his robes right in the middle of his room, not giving a damn about modesty. James began changing into his own nightclothes, not giving a second thought on modesty either. Not one boy looked at another, and no one spoke.

"This is ridiculous!" James explodes finally. Black and Pettigrew both look up at him with expressions ranging from quite startled to mildly interested. "Look, we're going to be dorm mates for the next seven years. We should at least introduce ourselves or something."

"Well I don't know where you were during the Sorting, but the rest of us already know who everyone is," Black said, rolling his eyes.

"That so?" James said to Black. "Then what's his name?" he asked, pointing at Pettigrew in the corner. Black snorted.

"If you want to know his name, Potter, then why don't you just ask him yourself?"

"I don't want to know his name. I want to know if _you_ know his name," said James.

"Oh that's nice of you. You don't want to know his name? He's not that important, is he?" Black said challengingly.

"That's not what I meant!" James said. He turned to Pettigrew, who may have turned slightly puce. "It's Peter, right?" James asked, and Pettigrew nodded. James grinned triumphantly at Black, who rolled his eyes. "James Potter, nice to meet you. Why don't you tell us something about yourself, Peter."

"Merlin," Black huffed, shaking his head. James ignored him

"Well I – I don't know," Peter said, looking very much like a small creature being cornered by a much larger predator. James smiled as reassuringly as he could, and Pettigrew seemed to relax a little. "Come on, Peter. Just say anything. Like – what's your Quidditch team?"

"Well, my dad likes the Wasps…" Pettigrew said.

"There you go! That's something," James said enthusiastically. "All right, Lupin, your turn," James said to Lupin, who had just walked out of the bathroom in his pyjamas. Lupin said nothing, but looked at James questioningly. "Tell us something about yourself." James urged him. Lupin shrugged. "Oh come on! Anything."

"Leave him alone, Potter. Maybe he doesn't want to talk," said Black.

"I'm _trying_ to get everyone acquainted," James replied.

"Maybe he doesn't want to _get_ acquainted," Black snapped.

"_No one_ wants to get acquainted with _you_," James snapped back.

"Oh, how very diplomatic of you, Potter. You know, I think – "

"No one cares what you think – "

"Would you both stop bickering!" Lupin said loudly, and James and Black were quiet.

"He started it," James muttered.

"Oh real mature!" Black barked. Lupin shook his head and started turning down his covers.

"Look," James appealed. "I just figured that, since we're all going to be stuck with each other for a while, we ought to at least try to be friendly. Or at least speak to each other!" Lupin looked at him, considering.

"All right," he acquiesced. "What d'you want to know?"

"I don't know," James shrugged, sitting on the edge of hid bed, his feet hanging over his trunk. "Anything. Where're you from? What do your parents do? Are you actually lactose intolerant?" Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"I'm actually lactose intolerant," he said.

"Oh," was all James said. It seemed the conversation was dead and gone, so James left it at that. Everyone crawled into bed and shut off the lanterns next to their beds. James, not bothering to draw his curtain all the way around, and snuggled into his pillow. "Goodnight everyone," he called out quietly. He got no reply.

* * *

_A/N: First off, I would like to point out that the title of this chapter has nothing to do with the Rise Against song of the same name (except that I was listening to it while I was reworking this, and it seemed appropriate), but I'm sure you all figured that out once you read the chapter. Also, this chapter was quite obviously written before Deathly Hallows came out, so Andromeda's age and appearance were…uncertain. I've fixed her appearance in this chapter, and will continue to do so as needed, but alas, her age is unchangeable (as in she's officially older than Bellatrix). So it's not canon, but then, it was never really meant to be. Kay, well….review? Please comment on the writing, on the story itself, on anything else that comes to mind. Thanks!_

* * *


	4. Chapter Two

DISCLAIMER: See last page.

* * *

"_The key to a successful, happy life is simple. Know your friends, know who you can trust. Know your enemies, their strengths and weaknesses, and know that they know the same things about you. Always know where you are, and most importantly, know where you're going."_ –JP 1977

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

James looked around his surroundings, realising he had no idea where he was. He was standing in a room, a bedroom by the looks of it, but it was dark, and he was very much alone. He had no idea how he got there, which understandably made him nervous. The curtains on the windows were drawn, almost keeping out the bright daylight, but not quite. There were no candles, or lamps, so the only light to see by was what crept in through the covered window. Everything was neat and tidy, and everything was in its place. But there was something odd about the room. Shadows dominated much of the room, cast by and on and over various pieces of furniture. It looked mostly natural, mostly harmless, but James still couldn't help but feel a certain amount -something. James's eyes drifted towards the bed and felt something uncomfortable stir in his stomach. He approached slowly, cautiously, almost afraid to see what was there. The old wood underneath the carpeted floor creaked as he stepped forward slowly, causing him to pause. James gulped heavily and started forward again. He strained his eyes and looked towards the bed. He thought he saw something, but he wasn't quite sure what. He rubbed his eyes and took another step forward, squinting to make something out. He thought he saw something in the bed on the other end of the room.

_He's asleep, _a voice said quietly. James took another careful step forward and strained his eyes some more. There was something there.

_Should we wake him? _asked another voice. James took another step. Something important.

_James. _

James snapped to a halt. He strained his ears and listened for the voice again. Someone was trying to tell him something. The sick feeling in James's stomach became more insistent, and he felt his palms becoming sticky. James took another hesitant step forward, towards the bed and the still figure lying in it. He felt there was something he needed to see, but also that it was something he did not at all want to see. He took another step forward. He was almost at the bed now, and his hands had begun to tremble. He stopped again, listening for the warning voice that had called his name, but he heard nothing. James sighed heavily and took another step forward. Another couple of steps, and he'd be at the bed, whether he wanted to be or not.

_OY,_ _POTTER!

* * *

_

James jolted awake in a spasm of uncomfortable motion. He was breathing heavily and sweating, and he was pretty sure he pulled something in his arm and in his back, and a couple of other places not to be mentioned in polite conversation. He looked over to the side of the bed where his bed curtains stood open, letting in the morning light. There stood Lupin and Pettigrew, looking curious and anxious, and Black, who was in the process of laughing out a lung.

"You screamed like a girl," Black told him between fits of laughter. James glared at him as best he could manage, still tangled up in bedclothes.

"What the hell, Black?" said James, it being too early for him to come up with something truly cutting. He was just not a morning person.

"Breakfast ends in twenty minutes," Pettigrew told James hesitantly. "We figured you might want something to eat before class. Or something…"

"So you decided to scream in my ear?" James said, still glaring at Black. Black held his hands up in a defensive gesture, merriment still dancing in his steel grey eyes.

"We tried to be gentle, but you just wouldn't have it," said Black. "Now up you get, before we're all late for class. Come on now, quick like a bunny!" James threw a pillow at Black as hard as he could. Black caught it, but only after it hit him in the face. It seemed James had the quicker reflexes of the two. James made a mental note of this.

James snatched his glasses from off the bedside table and everything came into fine focus; it's not that he was _completely_ blind without them, it's just he'd be somewhat hard-pressed in telling the difference between, say, a hole in the ground and a stain on the floor, or an opened door versus a closed door, or a sofa versus a giant marshmallow. None of which he cared to talk about, thank you.

He untangled himself, with no small effort, from his sheets and made it safely onto the firm ground in one piece. His roommates were all busying themselves, getting their class supplies together. Only Black was still sniggering.

"Have you already had breakfast?" James asked Lupin, who was closest. Lupin looked up, almost guiltily, and nodded. James smiled at him approvingly and began digging through his trunk. He pulled out his second set of school robes, on which his generic Hogwarts emblem had also been transformed to the gold and red Gryffindor lion, much to James's wonderment. He then pulled out a simple tee shirt and a pair of slacks to wear under his robes, because they made him feel more comfortable, and a bit like a rebel (his parents didn't much mind his affinity for muggle clothing, but his grandmother disapproved of them as often and as vocally as she could).

James wandered off into the small bathroom, which was cold, but still had water running down the walls and mirrors. He jumped quickly into the shower, only to find that the water was cold, and probably wasn't going to get any warmer for a while (_you'd think a place like Hogwarts would be able to sustain hot water,_ James thought bitterly). After his quick, cold shower, James pulled on his clothes and brushed his teeth. He flattened his hair in the mirror, but the tuft at the back wouldn't lay flat and quite frankly looked rather stupid (the mirror had told him as much), so in the end he took both hands and mussed up his hair as best he could. Better to look a complete slob than to look like you're trying too hard not to be one. Plus, he thought it looked cool.

When James left the bathroom, he found the room empty but for Pettigrew. Pettigrew looked up at James from where he sat on his bed and attempted a friendly smile. It looked strained and nervous.

"I figured you might like some company," Pettigrew told James shakily. "Plus, I wasn't sure if you could find your way back to the Great Hall. It's kind of tricky." James smiled easily, and Pettigrew's watery blue eyes seemed to brighten a little.

"Thanks, Pete. Lead the way," said James, gesturing to the door. James only just remembered to grab his book bag before they left.

* * *

"Everyone together now. Swish and flick!"

James, his head propped up on his right hand, swished and flicked with his left for the hundredth time. They'd been swishing and flicking from the moment they'd walked into class. Nine a.m.: Charms with Flitwick and the Ravenclaws.

Swish and bloody flick.

They weren't even swishing and flicking their wands yet. James waggled the large white feather in his hand, then let it go and watched it float down to the desk. Black, who for some reason known only to himself had elected to sit next to James in this class, swished his feather so extravagantly that he lost it. It fluttered downward harmlessly and landed mostly on Lupin's head. Lupin, who was sitting on the other side of Black, and next to the back wall, cocked an eyebrow at Black and even snarled a little when the feather floated down his face, tickling his nose. Pettigrew, who sat on the other side of James, giggled and tried to make it sound like a snigger.

"Very good everyone!" said Professor Flitwick, a tiny little man who had to stand on a large stack of books at the front of his class. Professor Flitwick was very excitable and really quite pleasant, and James figured he would like the man very much when he wasn't bored out of his skull. James's stomach rumbled loudly and he grimaced. He and Pettigrew had never found their way back to the Great Hall, and eventually James had had to ask directions to their first class so as not to be late. James didn't blame Peter at all; in fact, the two of them had chatted the whole way (well, James had chatted, and Peter had listened and commented every now and again), and James found that he rather liked Peter. Or might, if the boy would actually say something, and not look at James as though he were something to be idolized. Well, James really didn't mind the whole idol thing, but it was a little creepy at times.

James looked back to the front of the class where Professor Flitwick was floating his large white feather in midair. There were several oohs and aahs from the students, and Flitwick lowered his feather.

"Now let's all try it with our wands now!" Flitwick told the class, and James immediately snatched up his wand, ready to try out some actual magic. "Remember," Flitwick said, "swish and flick!"

James scrunched his nose, pushing aside the urge to jam his wand into his eye if he heard the words "swish and flick" in that or any order one more time. Instead, James took a deep breath, straightened up in his chair and concentrated on the feather sitting in front of him. He held his wand with a loose grip, aiming it carefully at his feather…

"Oy, Potter," Black hissed at James, breaking his concentration. "What was it Flitwick said again? Swoosh and flop?" James glared at Black, and Black's floating feather tickled James on the nose.

"Bugger off, Black," James growled and turned back to his feather, trying hard to ignore the feather tickling his ear and neck. James breathed deep again and concentrated.

"Or was it swick and fish?"

James's head snapped around and he scowled at Black. Then his scowl turned into a grin.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,"_ James muttered, accompanied by the correct wand movement, and instantly, Black's wand flew up out of his hand and floated above his head, just out of his reach. Black's head snapped up after his wand, and then he looked back down to watch his feather float down to the desk. He looked and James, impressed and almost approvingly. Almost.

"Cute," said Black, and then he lunged at James. James jumped back and almost landed himself in Pettigrew's lap. James's focus broken, Black's wand came tumbling out of midair and whacked Black on the head. Black looked up, offended, even though he knew nothing was up there anymore, and rubbed his head. James and Peter were both laughing, and even Lupin looked like he might actually crack a smile (_which would be a first,_ James thought). Other students were looking back at the boys in the far corner, mostly curious, some of them sniggering.

"What's going on back there?" Professor Flitwick asked, standing on his toes upon his stack of books, lifting his chin up to see over heads.

"Nothing, sir!" James and Black both said at once. They looked at each other fleetingly, and decided to pretend nothing had happened. It was safer for everyone that way. Professor Flitwick gave them both a suspicious look, but shrugged it off and went back to his lesson.

* * *

"Ickle firstie's lost his way?" The small, floating man with the strange hat cackled and soared up and about James's head. James ducked, unsure of whether impacting the devilish thing would hurt or not.

"What the hell?" James whined as Peeves, Hogwart's resident poltergeist whipped this way and that, making rude noises and causing the portraits to complain loudly. James cringed and covered one ear with his free hand, the other with his Transfiguration textbook.

"Does the firstie-wurstie need directions?" the poltergeist asked, floating down to James's eye level and sticking his face right up to the boy. James shielded himself with his large, heavy textbook. If anything, it ought to make a good shield.

"I think I'll find my way all right, thanks," James told the poltergeist, peeking over his textbook. Peeves blew a loud, wet raspberry right in James's face.

"You'll never find it," Peeves sing-songed, then laughed again. James rolled his eyes. "The hallways move…"

"I thought the stairs moved," James protested.

"They do! Empty hallways harbour monsters, who eat the souls of young boys!" the poltergeist shouted, and the portraits groaned and said various rude things.

"Right, but will they lead me to Professor McGonagall's classroom?" James asked. "I was told that I needed my textbook and my wand. I suppose my soul's optional."

"Ooooooooooh, clever little chappy, are we?" Peeves squealed.

"Well I don't know about we, but _I've_ got to get to class," James replied, bored. He was getting tired of just standing around and his textbook was feeling _really_ heavy.

"Allow me to show you the way, then," said Peeves with a grand bow. The poltergeist whizzed around behind James and it was suddenly quiet. James looked about, finding himself alone in the corridor. He had a bad feeling about this…

Something hit James hard on the back of the neck and he jumped. Cold liquid ran down his neck and his back, soaking his school robes and running down under his tee shirt. James spun around and saw Peeves the poltergeist floating mid-air, holding a large metal buckets full of water balloons.

James only hoped it was actually water in those balloons. Judging by the consistency of the liquid now running down the back of his trousers, he didn't think it was.

Peeves hurled another balloon at James, who ducked and managed to be missed. James turned and sprinted down the corridor, Peeves racing behind him, throwing goo-filled balloons at him, all the way to the Transfiguration classroom.

* * *

James ran into the Transfiguration room and skidded to a stop just before hitting a desk. After Charms, he'd noticed that he'd left his Transfiguration text up in his dorm room, and had to run back to get it. And run he had. He would have made pretty good time too, if not for the obscene number of staircases, the twisting and branching corridors all filled by students heading to their next classes, and a brief encounter with the school poltergeist, Peeves. As it happened, the Transfiguration classroom was full by the time James made it to class, and all of the students had taken their seats and had their books open. Professor McGonagall, the severe-looking witch who had collected the First Years the night of the Sorting, stood at the front of the class, her eyes glaring over her wire-rimmed glasses, her mouth pressed in a thin line.

"You're late," she said, and James gulped. "Mr. Potter, I take it?"

"Yes ma'am," James said, fidgeting nervously. The entire class was looking at him. "How'd you know?" McGonagall gave him an appraising look.

"You are the only student on my list that was not accounted for," she told him, and he felt himself blush.

"Right. Attendance," he muttered. Professor McGonagall stared at him still, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Would you please explain why you were late, Mr. Potter?" she told him rather than asked.

"I, er, got lost," said James. McGonagall shook her head.

"Did you not just have class with your fellow Gryffindors? Could you not have followed them? They all got here just fine, and on time. You'll need a better excuse than that, Potter." James nodded. "Now sit down, Potter. I will excuse you this once, but _only once_. After that, it's points." James nodded and all but fell into the only free seat left. He found himself sitting next to Black, and he tried not to groan.

"What the hell is on your neck?" Black whispered to James, poking at the goo still there. James batted his hand away.

"Shut up."

McGonagall went on to explain several complicated concepts (after warning the class that any goofing-off would result in a severe loss of points and an expulsion from the class). Only when she pulled out a box of matches and began passing them out did James realise he probably should have been taking notes. Black hadn't been taking notes either, so there was no chance of stealing those, and he doubted Lupin would lend him his own notes. Peter was still writing furiously.

McGonagall came around to give James and Black a match each, saw the lack of parchment on their table, and shook her head. James sunk down in his chair – it was the first day of classes, and already his Head of House didn't like him. Oh well, he would just have to be very good at Transfiguration. James pulled out his wand (mahogany, eleven and a half inches, dragon heart-string core), skimmed over the notes on the board, and tried to turn his match into a needle. Nothing happened. He looked around and noticed that even the people who had been paying close attention hadn't managed any change. So he tried again. And again.

By the end of the class, James had successfully Transfigured his match into a shiny silver pointy thing. It wasn't quite a needle, but it was pretty damn close. Black had only managed to turn his silver, Lupin was floating his in front of his face (James guessed he'd given up on Transfiguring it and decided to practice for Charms) and no one else had made any progress at all. James gave his needle to the Professor, who looked at him in shock.

"I'm impressed, Potter," she told him. James, feeling his confidence buoyed, strutted out of the class with a grin on his face.

* * *

James stepped out of the boy's toilets on the third floor and looked around. He had no idea how he'd gotten to the third floor after lunch, or why, but he did know he oughtn't be there. Or he figured not. He looked left, and then right, then swore loudly. He picked a direction and went that way.

"Merlin's great, long, lice-infested beard!" James swore loudly after having wandered around for quite some time. He spotted a portrait of some very inebriated monks and a noble lady in a frilly yellow gown, who also happened to be quite drunk, and swore he'd seen it before. He shook his head and continued down the hallway, then turned into another. He finally found a flight of carpeted stairs leading downwards and sighed in relief. If he could make it to the first floor, he was bound to find someone who knew where everything was and, most importantly, where his next class was.

James reached the next floor down, which is where the staircase ended, and looked around again. It looked to be completely deserted. Even the oil paintings on the walls were bare of anything but background; James guessed the subjects of the paintings had all gone off to find some other portrait where they could socialize. There was one painting whose occupant still remained – a very large man with a feathered hat and feathered moustache, who was quite thoroughly passed out on the table at which he sat.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" James said courteously, approaching the artwork. The man in the painting snorted and settled himself more comfortably on the table. James sighed and tried again, more loudly this time. "Excuse me, sir!"

"What what?" the heavy man snorted awake and looked around. He caught sight of James and glared in a way he surely thought was menacing. His pink face turned red with the effort. "What do you want, boy? What're you doing here?"

"I'm lost, sir," James told the man.

"Well _obviously_," the butterball of a man guffawed. "You'd have to be, if you're up here." James conceded.

"Wait, up?" James hissed when he realized the implication of the man's words. "What floor are we on?"

"This is the Northeast wing of the forth floor, boyo," the large man told him, leaning forward on the table and looked James directly in the eye. James swore loudly and explicitly.

"Such language!" came a voice from somewhere down the hall. James ignored it.

"I just went _down_ a flight of stairs from the third floor! How can I be on the _fourth?_"

"Magic works in mysterious ways," the large man told James thoughtfully. James swore feelingly.

"You know, for such a young lad, you have a frighteningly large vocabulary," the man in the portrait told James. James shrugged.

"Isn't there a map to this school or anything?" James asked, his voice not a little whiney. The man snapped a great laugh.

"Not likely, boyo. It's impossible to map a place like Hogwarts. Too much magic, and nothing ever stays the same!" James shook his head and growled, wondering how anything ever got done.

"So how do I get back to civilization from here?" James grumbled. The large man sniffed.

"Children have no manners these days," the large man said loudly. "Were you my son, I'd take you over my knee and –"

"I'm sorry, sir," James said quickly, not wanting to know where this might be going. Or perhaps knowing all too well. "I would greatly appreciate it if you could tell me how to get to the Great Hall from here." The man considered him for a moment.

"That's better, now," he sniffed, and James sighed inwardly in relief. The large man listed off a long set of directions, and James had to ask the man to repeat himself several times. Finally, James figured he had a pretty good idea of how to get himself where he wanted to go, and he thanked the large man.

As he turned to go, a flicker of movement caught James's eye and he turned, finding a scrappy-looking kitten with disturbing red eyes watching him carefully.

"Hey there, kitty," James said, stepping towards the cat and holding out his hand for her to sniff. The cat arched her back and made a horrible noise. James stopped in his tracks and shuddered a little.

Suddenly, the cat leapt forward and latched onto James's outstretched arm with her claws. James cried loudly in shock and pain, and shook his arm frantically to try to throw off the demon kitten from Hell.

"Hey! What's going on here!" An old, shabby-looking man limped out from around a corner and hobbled towards James in a hurry. "What're you doing to my cat!"

"Get it off!" James cried, and finally succeeded in flicking the cat off his arm. The cat landed on her side with a loud yelp and scampered behind the man. The man glared fire at James through his mangy white hair and his lip curled up in a snarl, revealing a set of crooked yellow teeth.

"What did you do to Mrs. Norris?" the man snarled. James looked up from his tattered arm and furrowed his brow.

"_Who?_"

"Mrs. Norris! Mrs Norris!" The man looked about his feet, spotted the kitten cowering behind him and scooped her up into his arms. He started stroking the cat, cooing at her soothingly. The cat glared at James smugly. "Oooh, it's all right now, Mrs. I won't let the naughty boy hurt you."

"What!" James cried in disgust. "That cat's a maniac! It tried to kill me!"

"Don't you talk about Mrs. Norris!" the man snapped. James was feeling pretty sure the guy was insane. "Your professors will be hearing about this, boy, be sure. What're you even doing up here, anyway? Shouldn't you be going to class?"

"I got lost!" James protested, backing away from the creepy little man's intense gaze. "I'm just trying to find my way back to the Great Hall."

"And you decide to stop and attack poor, defenceless animals on your way!"

"Defenceless! Just look at what that thing did to my arm!" James shouted, holding out his arm, which looked something like he'd stuck it in an electric blender. "And I didn't attack your cat!"

"I'll have your toes for this!" the man shouted back, and James flinched. "Just you wait. I'll have you strung up by your ankles and skinned! I'll feed your fingers to the lake monster! Just let me talk to Professor Dumbledore! Just you wait!"

James was already sprinting down the hallway. Mrs. Norris yowled in amusement.

* * *

It took James a moment to realize that he'd been woken up by the sound of light snoring. It took him another moment to realize it had been his own snoring that had woken him up. He blinked stupidly for a moment, and wiped what he assumed to be drool on his hand onto his robes. He saw Pettigrew sitting next to him, who appeared to be in a daze. Lupin was next to Pettigrew, moving his quill on his parchment in a way that suggested he wasn't exactly taking notes. Black was out cold on the table.

A transparent man with a very monotonous voice droned on at the front of the class, not lifting his eyes from the text he was reading from. After a moment of listening to the professor drone on, James started to nod off again. Thinking about it, he wasn't even sure which class he was in. He flipped his text cover shut and read the title. He appeared to be in History of Magic.

James peered around the rest of the class, seeing that many of the other students were asleep, or fighting not to be. Lupin's quill had stopped moving on the parchment, and he was starting to sway in his seat. A small blond girl in front of Black yawned, setting off a chain reaction through the class. Professor – James checked his class schedule – Binns's voice floated through the dead air, only a word every so often actually registering in James's mind. Finally, James gave up, put his text aside, and settled himself comfortably on the desk in front of him.

* * *

"So what do we have next?" Pettigrew asked James, looking through his bag for his timetable as they and the rest of their class left the History of Magic classroom.

"Uuuuuh, Defence," James announced, pulling his own crumpled timetable from his robe pocket and glancing at it.

"Where is it?" Pettigrew asked, looked over James's arm at the timetable. The boys both studied it for a minute with no obvious results.

"First floor, east of here," Lupin supplied from nearby. James turned and smiled his thanks at the boy, but Lupin was already staring at the floor in front of him and heading off.

"Strange lad," James muttered and shrugged, though he still watched Lupin ahead of him.

"Shoot. I think I've left my text in the classroom," Pettigrew said, looking through his book bag again. "I've got to go back and get it." James grabbed Pettigrew's arm firmly.

"Don't leave me, Peter." Pettigrew looked at James as though he'd grown another head, and that head may well just up and eat him. "Long story," James told him, removing his hand. "Just don't be too long. I don't want to lose the others." Pettigrew nodded and went back into the History of Magic classroom.

James waited until almost all of the other students were out of sight before he started to get nervous. He'd already been late for every single one of his classes today, or close to, did not fancy getting lost _again_. He looked back at the empty classroom, then to the last straggling group of Gryffindor girls rounding the corner. He looked back and forth a few more times, mentally sending Pettigrew messages of distress and displeasure, urging him to hurry up. Finally, Peter came out of the classroom, book in hand. James rushed forward and grabbed Pettigrew by the wrist and dragged him along with all his might. It actually did take most of his might – Peter wasn't a small guy.

James rounded the corner he'd seen the girls disappear behind, dragging Pettigrew in tow, and sighed in regret. There were no Gryffindors to be seen. James swore feelingly.

"Now what?" James asked more to himself than to his companion.

"I'm sure we can find someone to ask," Pettigrew suggested quietly. "Or we could –"

"Shut up, Pete," James interrupted, holding his hand out in front of Pettigrew's face. He stared down the hallway, straining his ears. "I think I hear something," James whispered. They stood in absolute silence for a moment.

"James, I – "

"Shhhh!" James hissed, and Peter fell silent. James's forehead creased in concentration, and his nose scrunched, skewing his glasses somewhat. "Giggling," he said finally. "I hear giggling. Follow me!"

And with that, James took off at a dash, and Pettigrew hurried along behind him as best he could.

Every so often, James would stop and scrunch his face, apparently listening for the sounds of the giggling Gryffindor girls, and then take off again. They passed a varying number of people in the hallways, and James ran into more than half of them in his determination. It was all Peter could do to keep up with his swift dorm mate. Finally, James stopped dead in mid-sprint, and hung his head in defeat.

"I've lost them," he said to the floor. "And I have no idea where we are."

"Don't worry, I'm sure someone can tell us where to go. It can't be far now," Pettigrew said optimistically. James muttered various curses under his breath as they continued onward. James's head snapped up at the sound of a familiar cackle, and he touched the back of his neck.

"Run," he said, and ran.

"What?" Pettigrew went after him.

James turned another corner and skidded to a halt. Pettigrew skidded up into James and nearly fell over. James didn't notice. Before him, a group of boys with green and silver-striped ties stood circled around a much smaller boy. The boy, a Ravenclaw, James thought he saw, was huddled up against a wall, covering his head with his arms. The larger Slytherins were all laughing.

James heard Pettigrew swallow loudly behind him – this was the same group of boys that had been picking on Peter on the way to the castle.

"Stupid, rotten, slime-sucking toads," James growled and marched forward. Pettigrew squeaked in protest, but stayed where he was.

"Hey!" James called, and the Slytherins rounded on him. The Ravenclaw, being the intelligent lad he was, ran for it while his attackers were distracted.

"What do you want?" snarled one of the Slytherins. James thought quickly.

"Uuuuuuum, do any of you know how to get to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom?" he asked hopefully. The Slytherins, who were much larger than James, (since they were quite large and James was rather small) laughed, and James felt his hope drop out from underneath him. The Slytherins approached him slowly, like a pack of hyenas advancing on the carcass of a dead buffalo. James looked around him, trying desperately to think of some way out of the mess he'd gotten himself – and Peter, for that matter – into, but he still held his ground.

"Hey, guess what," James said suddenly, and the Slytherin gang stopped their advance.

"What?" the largest boy, who appeared to be their spokesperson, said. James took a deep breath.

"PEEVES IS A GREAT FLOATING LOUT WITH CABBAGE FOR BRAINS AND HIS FEET SMELL LIKE BRUSSLESPROUTS!"

The Slytherin boys blinked in confusion and looked at one another, as though hoping one of them could provide an answer for James's strange outburst. James was backing towards Peter, not taking his eyes away from the gang of his would-be assailants. He really hoped his plan worked.

A mad cackling broke the silence in the hallway as Peeves the poltergeist appeared through a wall and swooped this way and that. The Slytherins all threw their hands over their heads and ducked, or covered their ears to block out the high-pitched laughter. Grinning, James grabbed Peter's wrist and tugged it hard. They were running out the other end of the hallway before anyone knew what was happening, leaving the Slytherins to the mercy of the trickster spirit.

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a major let down. This was the class James had been looking forward to all day, and he'd been so excited when he saw it on the list of his classes for first day. He was simply aching to break in his new wand, and learn all sorts of useful spells, and learn about all the wild, devilish creatures that existed previously in myth alone. He wanted to slay dragons, and rescue damsels in distress, and all that neat stuff you read about in comic books.

This class was a joke.

It turned out, Defence Against the Dark Arts was a lot like History of Magic. There was a lot of lecturing, and it didn't take long for James to notice that a lot of what the professor was saying appeared in their textbook. Often word for word. As in mostly.

The professor was new to Hogwarts, and had quite obviously never taught before. He was a twitchy little man with coke-bottle glasses and a premature bald spot. He sniffed habitually and said "um" often enough for it to be distracting. His voice was shaky, and he never looked at the students. It was almost as though he was afraid they might laugh at him. Which, of course, a lot of them were.

James sighed disappointedly and rested his head on his hand. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but the more he listened, the – angrier – he got. He was wasting his time. This was supposed to be a good class, but good old Professor – erm, something – was ruining it!

James glanced over at Black sitting a couple seats down from him. He didn't look terribly impressed either. He was leaned back in his chair, his chin up and his arms crossed over his chest, looking like a disapproving father who'd listened to one too many excuses (James knew the look). Black looked up and met James's gaze, then rolled his eyes and glanced at the professor, who was still muttering on. James stole a quick glance himself, then nodded in agreement.

_This guy's an idiot._

_Definitely._

It was the closest he and Black had come to a civilized conversation.

James started flipping through his textbook at random, finding pictures of all sorts of small, dumb-looking creatures. He saw a drawing of a Cornish pixie grinning up at him with pointed teeth and he raised his hand. After a prolonged moment, James looked up and saw that the professor was still reading straight from the text, and was not looking at his students. James heard a snigger and saw that Black was laughing. James cleared his throat and raised his hand a little higher, hoping to get the professor's attention, but to no avail. He rolled his eyes and spoke up.

"Excuse me, Professor?" The professor looked up as though shocked that there was anyone else in the room.

"Yes, um?" the professor said.

"James Potter, sir. I was just wondering when we're going to get to the good stuff. Like, is there a lesson outline or something."

"Um, excuse me?" said the professor. "Um, I'm not quite, um, sure what you mean. Um, by that."

"Well you know. Maybe you could give us a timeline or something, telling us when we're going to get to the exciting stuff."

"Um, exciting stuff?"

"Yeah, you know, like vampires, and werewolves and dragons and such. Or when we start learning defensive spells and the like."

The professor said nothing for a moment.

"Um, we don't do that here." James slumped in his chair.

"Oh."

This sucked.

* * *

James threw open the door to his dorm room and trudged in, still hauling his heavy book bag. He only just remembered to kick the door shut behind him. He all but stumbled over to his bed, dropped his bag heavily to the ground with a dull thud, then dropped face-first onto his bed, fully clothed. He didn't even care that his roommates were all staring at him.

"James, where were you? It's almost eleven o'clock," Peter said concernedly. James said something into his bedspread.

"Huh?" James turned his head to the side, both so that he could be understood, and so he could breathe.

"I said I don't want to talk about it," he grumbled, pulling the rest of his limp form onto his bed. Black snorted.

"What, did you get lost?" Black mocked.

"Shut up, Black. Just shut up."

* * *

A/N: Well that took a while to write O.o

Review please! (Responses will be on bio page thingy)

PS. Typos all fixed up for your reading enjoyment!


	5. Chapter Three

DISCLAIMER: See last page.

* * *

_James had always had mixed feelings about Fridays. On the one hand, Fridays symbolized freedom. The doorway to two whole days to sleep in, and not have to worry about cold showers (who needs to shower on weekends, anyway?), to hang around in your underpants, and maybe (if you were really desperate), start on that mountain of homework that's been piling up all week. Yes, it all started on Friday night, when you climbed up to your dorm room after a full day, nay, week of class, dumped your books under your bed where they couldn't offend you, then went down to the Great Hall to eat as much puddings as you possibly could without being violently ill. Then, you climbed back up to the cozy, plush Gryffindor common room to snuggle by the fire and do whatever you want until obscene hours of the early morning, because you knew you had two whole days to recuperate. And then, you would do it all again the next day, simply because you could, and there was no good reason not to. For all those reasons and more, James loved Fridays. But that was on the one hand._

_On the other hand, Fridays also meant double Potions with the Slytherins._

- _Mr. Prongs Goes to Hogwarts: A Biography by S. Black (started one ambitious Friday night, lasted a weekend, and was never completed-RJL)

* * *

_

**CHAPTER THREE**

James collapsed on his bed after a long, exhausting Friday. He would never think about them the same way again, he was sure. The entire day was ruined for him.

He turned his head and sniffed the sleeve of his robe. Yup, still smelled of burnt newt. James had discovered that he had a natural affinity for most subjects at school – he was the best in his class at Transfiguration without even trying, and he wasn't half bad at Charms. Herbology and Astronomy were simple, and didn't really involve much in the way of magic at any rate. And as long as he could stay awake in History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts, he was sure he'd be fine. However, Potions, he found, he was completely useless at. It didn't help that most of the Potions class was spent in awkward tension between the Gryffindor side of the room and the Slytherin side. It helped even less that all the Slytherins seemed to be naturally good at Potions, whereas the Gryffindors…not so much. It bugged him most of all that of all the Gryffindors, Black seemed the most adept at the subject. In fact, if today's class was any indication, Black was downright brilliant.

_I think you would make for an ideal Slytherin. You've got the mind for it, and the attitude. I would think Salazar would be proud to have you in his House._

James sniffed at the sound of the Sorting Hat in his mind, and buried his face in his mattress. _Black is the one who ought to have been in Slytherin, not me,_ he thought to himself. _He's the one with all the Slytherin qualities. He's pureblood, and rich, and a downright snob. Struts around like he's the Minister for Magic, better than Merlin or even Dumbledore! Well, I'll put him in his proper place, just wait._

_You don't sound certain._

James looked up when he heard the door creak open. Lupin and Pettigrew came in, both carrying their heavy schoolbags over their shoulders. Lupin retreated to his section of the room wordlessly, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. Pettigrew at least smiled in greeting at James before bowing his head and shuffling over to his own bed.

"Hey," James said tiredly, trying hard to be friendly, but knowing it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference. He'd been trying for the past week to get his dorm mates to show some signs of life, but Pettigrew, while fairly amiable when spoken to, was still pretty skittish, and Lupin hadn't even said ten whole words in a row in all the time James had known him.

Still, he thought he ought to try again anyway.

"So, Lupin," James said, still lying out flat on his stomach, his arms tucked under his body and pushing himself upwards slightly so that he could breathe at least a little. Lupin snapped his head around as if surprised that he was being addressed. "What're your plans for tonight?"

Lupin turned back to what he was doing and shrugged. "Thought I'd go to the library, do some homework." James looked up in surprise and did a quick count on his fingers.

_Nine words. Not bad._

"Wait, which homework did we have?" James asked, trying to think if he should be concerned about it as well.

"The Charms assignment that Professor Flitwick gave us today."

_Nine again. On a roll!_

"Wait, that's not due for another week! Not until next Friday! Why start tonight?" Lupin shrugged again, and swung his newly packed schoolbag onto his shoulder.

"Might as well."

_Only three words. Not good._

"Are you sure you don't want to take a night off? Have some fun?" James asked, rolling onto his side and actually looking at Lupin properly. Lupin lowered his head and headed towards the door in something of a hurry.

"No thanks."

_Two words. We've lost him._

The door slammed shut behind Lupin.

James sighed and rolled over to face Pettigrew.

"So what about you, Pete. What're you up to tonight?" he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic, but knowing that he was failing.

"Well I've –"

"If you say homework, I'm going to cry."

"Professor McGonagall wanted to see me. She said it was important…" James looked at Pettigrew, who blushed deep pink. Sighing heavily, James decided not to be too nosy.

"Are you going before or after dinner?" he asked just as Black entered the room and began to strip.

"Before. She wants to see me "as soon as possible", she said." Pettigrew told James. Black pulled a set of casual robes out of his trunk, sniffed them, and put them on.

"Eep. Think you're in trouble or something? It's not about that explosion, is it? I mean, you didn't know what would happen if you put the powdered gillyweed in before the lavender root…" James asked, purposely ignoring Black, who was looking at his reflection in the window, playing with his hair. Pettigrew didn't even shrug in response, but made a kind of jerky movement. Black, apparently finished with his hair, sniffed and swept out of the room.

"Jerk," James muttered. Pettigrew looked up, his watery blue eyes wide with concern. "Oh, not you," James said, rolling his eyes and lying back on his bed. The two boys stayed in awkward silence for a moment.

"So who's your favourite for the World Cup this year?" James asked. He hadn't even heard Peter leave.

* * *

Dinner was completely uneventful, as it had been for the past week. James went down, exchanged a friendly nod with Frank Longbottom, sat down by himself, and decided he didn't have much of an appetite. Lupin was sitting alone at the end of the table, deeply concentrating on his meal. Black was nearby, only the width of the table and the gaggle of first-year Gryffindor girls separating them. He peered up at James from time to time, but they pretty much just ignored each other. James had no idea where Pettigrew had disappeared to, but, his feelings hurt, he didn't much care.

After a few very long minutes of staring at a plateful of probably very delicious food, James left.

* * *

James wandered around the hallways until he got lost. Somehow, looking around and realising he was in a dark, foreign corridor didn't seem to upset him in the least anymore. He just kept moving, turning at random, climbing up and down staircases whenever he crossed them until he found himself somewhere he actually recognized.

"Ahoy there, boyo," said the portrait of the fat man with the moustache.

"Hullo," James said.

"Mmm, you don't sound too chipper," the man rumbled thoughtfully. "What brings you to this wing of the castle?" James shrugged half-heartedly.

"My feet. I let them decide where to go tonight." The portrait grunted in acknowledgement.

"Come now, what's got you down, laddy?" he asked James, who was staring unfocused down the length of the gloomy hallway.

"Oh nothing. I'm just…bored, I guess," James finished lamely, knowing he was lying, but not sure what about.

"Homesick," the fat man said knowingly. James looked up at the painting, sceptically.

"No, it's not that," James said automatically. Then he sighed and looked at his shoes. "I don't know. Maybe it is. I guess I'm just…I don't know. Just…"

"Just what?" the man asked, and James thought about it.

"It's stupid," James muttered, and the man harrumphed.

"Come now! Out with it, out with it!"

"I think – just...alone," he answered finally. For a moment, the man in the portrait said nothing, but sat thoughtfully.

"What about your friends?" the man asked. James laughed humourlessly.

"I haven't exactly got any," James said darkly. He bit his lip, trying to keep from saying anything incriminatingly pathetic. The man in the portrait kept watching him.

"It's not like I haven't tried," James said quietly, more to himself than to the man in the portrait. "I've tried to talk to my roommates – well, the two of them, Peter and Remus – but…I don't know. It's just – no, I don't know. Forget it."

With that, James turned and stalked off down the ill-lit corridor. The man in the portrait watched him go, shaking his head sadly, muttering "Poor young lad."

* * *

"You. Stop."

James turned and found a pale figure in dark robes stalking towards him. He recognized the figure immediately as the Head Boy – it was hard not to, what with the flowing silver-blond locks and sharp, yet delicate features that made him indistinctly effeminate. The torchlight flickered ominously in the still air for no reason James could discern, and cast shadows artistically over the Head Boy's face, making him look like a figure from some allegorical religious oil painting – irrefutably beautiful, and very uncomfortable to look at; the kind that haunt your dreams at night, and twist your stomach like guilt, even if you've never ever done anything wrong in all your life.

James looked up at the Head Boy, his stomach trying to shrink as little as it could and tuck itself behind James's liver. He tried to push his nerves to the back of his mind – it was past curfew, James knew, but only barely, and it wasn't his fault he got lost. Again. In fact, maybe running into the Head Boy was a good thing. After all, he'd gone on that whole big long spiel at the opening feast about being a leader, and looking after his fellow students and all that. Even though he was a Slytherin, he was a seventh year, and must know his way around, and thus could probably point James to Gryffindor tower.

"Hi," James started, but was cut off.

"What are you doing wandering about at this hour?" the Head Boy snapped, and James felt his nerves vanish in an instant as a more insistent feeling of general dislike overcame him.

"I got lost. I was hoping you could help me find my common room," James said through grit teeth, trying very hard to sound polite. Even still, the Head Boy sneered, and James felt the dislike bubble into quite anger.

"First-year students should not be wandering around in the dark, especially so far from their dormitories," said the Head Boy condescendingly.

"It was an accident. I got lost," James growled more than said. The Head Boy peered down his sharp nose at James, and James very much wanted to kick him in the shin.

"Come," the Head Boy said after a moment of consideration. He stalked off ahead of James at a quick pace, and James didn't struggle to follow. After a few twists and turns, the Head Boy gestured to a long staircase with his chin. "Up the stairs," he told James.

"How many flights?" James asked, looking up. The staircases climbed around a large square void, and seemed to go up forever.

"Until you run out," said the Head Boy, and James looked back down to glare at him. "When you're at the top, turn left."

"Thank you," James said painfully.

"Yes, well, twenty points from Gryffindor for carelessness and for being out past curfew."

"What!" James cried in outrage. " It was an accident! I got lost; it isn't my fault! This place is a bloody labyrinth! I'm just waiting to run into a Minotaur – or perhaps I just did." James muttered the last bit under his breath. The Head Boy glared at him coolly.

"Another ten points for inappropriate language," he said, his arms crossed over his chest. James opened his mouth to protest, but thought against it at the last moment. "Now get to bed." With that, the Head Boy stalked off in a swirl of hair and rustling fabric and disappeared into the dark corridors. James stood seething for a moment, muttering all sorts of uncomplimentary things under his breath before heading up the staircase.

* * *

Even though he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and he'd wandered around the castle for more than half the night, James found his body reluctant to submit to sleep. For hours he lay awake in bed, staring at the canopied ceiling of his bed. He kept his side curtain partway open, and the bright moonlight spilled onto his face, giving everything a sickly bluish tinge. He looked out the window, thinking about nothing, realizing every so often there were points in the night that seemed blanked out - he figured those must have been the points he'd fallen asleep.

After one such moment, James looked at the window to see the dark sky stained with green down on the horizon, near the forest. He sighed heavily and rolled out of bed. He felt no more tired than when he'd gone to bed, and he hadn't felt tired at all then. He'd just gone to bed because he'd figured he ought to – the common room had been empty by the time he'd climbed all the staircases and found the portrait of the Fat Lady. The embers in the fireplace glowed red, but crackled the end of their life. Even still, James had sat on the couch until they'd turned to cold charcoal. Then he'd climbed quietly up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, opened the door to the sounds of light and heavy snores, and slipped into bed.

Now, in the pre-dawn silence, James could still hear the sleep sounds of his dorm mates as his quietly slipped around furniture and into the bathroom. The white lights there were harsh and unforgiving, and hurt James's eyes at first. He moved around the bathroom blindly, both because his eyes were watery and blurred from light and lack of sleep, and because he wasn't wearing his glasses. Even though he wasn't tired, his body felt like shit, so James stripped and stepped into his first hot shower in a week. The pounding of hot water felt wonderful, but stepping out into the cold air was like a slap in the face, and made James feel more tired than he had in a long time. Figuring his roommates were still asleep, James simply wrapped his towel around his waist and stepped back out into the bedroom. He dug through his trunk as quietly as he could – he started when he heard a loud snort from Black's bed – and pulled out something comfortable. He dressed, then slipped out of the room, closing the door as gently as he could, and his roommates might never know he'd been to bed at all that night.

* * *

James relished the feeling of the chilly air on his face and neck and the wet grass beneath him. The sun was slowly climbing, but the sky was still a yellow-greenish colour near the horizon, and the air was still cool. James guessed it was about six in the morning, but it could have been any hour. Truthfully, he didn't really care what time it was. He took a deep breath of sweet, fresh air and felt like he was breathing properly for the first time in a while. His first real breath since coming to Hogwarts. Since before then, even.

Hogwarts wasn't shaping up to be what he thought it would be. He had thought going to school, leaving behind the rules of his parents' house, family pressures and expectations, would be the best thing to ever happen to him. He thought he'd be having the time of his life. Now, he found himself wishing more and more that he was home. At least there he knew where he stood.

At least there he was allowed to fly.

James laid spread out in the middle of the impressive Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, looking up through the centre of the three fifty-foot high scoring hoops to the forest behind. A gust of wind passed over his face and he closed his eyes and imagined he was flying, and it was the best feeling in the world. He was on his old Shooting Star, fifty, a hundred feet in the air, speeding faster than the eye could follow. Fast enough to steal the tears from his eyes and breath from his lungs. Fast enough that nothing or no one would ever be able to stop him. He imagined looping and swerving and diving towards the ground until he almost lost control. He imagined the feeling of pulling out of that uncontrolled dive, zooming inches above the ground, knowing you'd been tangling with death, and you'd beaten it out that time. That was the beauty of flying – you didn't need much, you just needed to be fearless.

"Oy! You there!" James groaned, wondering why everyone felt they had to get his attention that way. Honestly, what ever happened to a good old-fashioned "excuse me"? James opened his eyes and looked up into the face of the sixth-year captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Excuse me for interrupting your nap, but we're about to have a trial here."

"Trial?" James asked, intrigued. "It's only the first Saturday of the year, and you're already holding a trial?" James eyes the horizon. "At dawn?"

"Hey, early bird and all that," the Captain said. "We're not the best team there is for nothing. Anyway, up you get, mate, we need the pitch." James climbed onto his feet, discovering that he only made it up to the sixth-year's chest.

"Hey, I don't suppose you've any need for a Chaser?" James asked hopefully, eyeing the chest of balls two strong-armed boys were lugging onto the pitch.

"Nope. Sorry mate, but we're trying Beaters today." The Captain eyed James. "And honestly, we probably couldn't use you for a bat." James was about to be offended, but noticed that the Captain had an amiable smile on his face and a light tone to his voice, and James found that he couldn't put any real conviction behind it. As much as he didn't like what he was being told, he rather did like the one doing the telling. "Besides," was the next thing James heard when he started paying attention again, "we don't recruit first-years. Matter of policy. Sure you understand."

"Wait! Well, why not?" James asked.

"They just haven't got the experience. Or the size," said the Captain, looking James up and down again. "I mean really, have you even had your first flying lesson yet?"

"I can fly," James said firmly. The Captain raised an eyebrow. James met the Captain's eye firmly.

"All right," he said after a moment, "but can you Chase?"

"Of course," James said with less assurance. In truth, James wasn't the best Chaser. In fact, he wasn't _really _much of a Quidditch player. He could fly like you wouldn't believe, but he had horrible coordination and even worse aim. Carrying a Quaffle made him clumsy on his broom, and his arms were pretty week and he kind of threw like a girl. He had pretty bad depth perception, and altogether that made him pretty useless as either a Chaser or a Beater. He might have made an all right Keeper or Seeker, but he found both of those pretty boring – playing Seeker meant a lot of sitting around and looking, all for one moment of glory, and Keepers were confined to their posts, and James needed the freedom to move and move fast. But James loved Quidditch, and wanted to play more than anything. James had always felt it was the Chasers that were the unsung heroes of the game – they did all the hard work, stealing and keeping the Quaffles, dodging, ducking and deeking and finally scoring even with all the odds against them. They were right in on the action for every moment of the game. To that point, James spent every spare moment he had at home, working on his aim and flying with a Quaffle. He wasn't great, but he wasn't bad anymore either, and with proper training he was sure he could even bee good.

The Captain looked at James thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "You know, you've got spunk, lad, and I like that, but I'm afraid it just isn't doing. We've already got three top-notch Chasers –myself included, if I may be so bold – and a very good reserve player. But hey, feel free to stick around and watch the trial." James nodded. He understood perfectly well, but he could help but feel disappointed. He saw the two boys who'd been carrying the trunk tossing a Quaffle around incredibly fast and with remarkable precision and reaction time. James knew he was nowhere near that good. Not yet.

* * *

The trial had lasted until lunchtime, and was quite the thing to watch. Prospective Gryffindor Beaters from every year (except first) had come to the trial – at least thirty! – and at least half of them were spectacular. The Beaters had all had to prove their speed and agility in a bloody kind of sport, where they all zoomed around the pitch, their bats in hands, trying to knock the other players off their brooms with Bludgers without being knocked off themselves. This is all well and good until you take into account the thirty players, the ten – yes, ten! – Bludgers, and the three Chasers in the game that were worth bonus points (the Gryffindor Seeker was a very cute, very petite fifth-year girl who was much too valuable and delicate to be allowed to participate in this fierce battle). In the end, fourteen Beaters got knocked off their brooms, three were disqualified for dirty, cheap and out-right immoral tactics, and seven Beaters, two Chasers and, on a freak fluke, the team's Keeper landed themselves in the Hospital wing for mild-to-serious injuries. The remaining six prospective Beaters were scheduled to undergo a second trial the next afternoon.

To that point, James entered the near-empty Great Hall just as lunch was ending and saw one Beater who'd managed to make it to the next round of trials sitting alone near the centre of the table.

"All right, Alice," James said brightly, sitting across from the girl. Watching the trial had put James in something of a better mood, as Quidditch had a tendency to do. Alice looked up at James with her one honey-brown eye that wasn't all purple and swollen shut.

"Hullo, James," Alice said sweetly, trying to smile. The effort obviously caused her pain, and James remembered seeing her take a rather nasty blow to the head –strangely, if he remembered correctly, it was a foot and not a Bludger that had hit her.

"Man, you look awful. Shouldn't you get that checked out in the hospital wing?" James said, scrunching his nose as he examined the damage to her face. Alice shrugged.

"I'll live," she said simply. "Besides, I've survived worse."

"No kidding. Has Frank seen this?" James asked, and Alice rolled her eyes.

"No, and I'm sure he'll have a ripe old cow when he does," she grumbled, carefully spooning chowders into her half-swollen mouth. Once she swallowed, she huffed loudly and slumped back in her chair. "He went on and on about how dangerous this would be, and how he didn't want me trying out. So I slugged him one good and told him to mind his own onions."

"Well I think Frank kind of had a point," James said, and Alice glared up at him, the sweetness in her face replaced by a firm resolve. Combined with the swelling and bruising, she looked downright intimidating.

"How's that?" she asked.

"Well I just mean, Quidditch is a dangerous sport, and Beater's a dangerous position, even for a bloke like Frank, and you're –" He'd been about to say 'a girl' but thought better of it at the very last second. "So little," he finished lamely.

"Coming from you, Potter, that really means a lot," Alice said, and James realized that she was nearly a foot taller than him and was not what one would call "dainty".

"I just mean, maybe you ought to try something that would…suit your disposition more."

"My _disposition?_" Alice snapped.

"I just mean, you're not really a violent person, and Quidditch is a pretty violent sport!" James said frantically. A flash of a memory appeared in James's mind right then – he was nine and had made some crack about Alice's dress or something. He didn't remember what he'd said, exactly, but he remembered well the taste of wet dirt…

"That's what Frank said," Alice said quietly. James could tell she was upset, but wasn't sure if it was angry upset or sad upset. Maybe it was both. It was hard to tell with girls. "But I like Quidditch. And I'm good at it." She stood from the table. "And I can be violent if I need to," she said, glaring back at him before stalking off.

"Boy, you just offend everyone, don't you," Black said from down the table.

* * *

After lunch, James went back to his dorm room. He'd become suddenly exhausted, and it had taken all his energy just to get back up to the tower. The common room had been filled with students chatting happily, playing games, or just sitting around with their friends, doing nothing. Just seeing it put James in a terrible mood, and made him all the more drained. He didn't have the energy to be miserable. So he climbed the stair to his room and, finding it empty, he locked himself in.

But once he collapsed onto the bed, he found that, once again, he was just not tired. Or he was tired, but not in a way that would let him sleep. So he laid on his been for as long as he could. Eventually, he couldn't stand it anymore, so he got up and looked about the room. It was already starting to clutter, what with four eleven-year-old boys inhabiting it. It had something of a smell, too. The room was always spotless when they came back up from classes, signalling that someone regularly came up to tidy up, but weekends meant people were in and out all the time, and it really only takes one day to clutter up a room.

Finding himself at a disheartening loss, James pulled out his Charms text and started on the homework that wasn't due for a week. He really had nothing better to do. The essay was finished in a matter of hours, so James started on the Transfiguration assignment due for Monday. Once James was finished all of his schoolwork for the upcoming week, he wrote his mother a letter. By the time that was all done, the sun was just setting. James had no idea where his roommates were, only that not a one of them had come up to the room once all day. He figured he ought to find that strange, but he didn't really care. He was in a decidedly bad mood, and was determined to stay that way for the rest of the night.

As if he could help it.

* * *

Lupin and Black were both at dinner that evening, both sitting at different places at the table. James sat by himself and watched his dinner as if it might up and run away. He didn't touch it. He hadn't eaten a full proper meal at least a day. He figured he should eat. He took a bite, then played with the rest of it until it was an inedible mess. He didn't even remember what the viscous goop had started off as. Giving it up as a lost cause, James left.

* * *

Some time around midnight, James found his way to the Owlery. He didn't have an owl of his own, so for ages he'd just sat on the large windowsill, stroking a random school barn owl, staring out into the night. The moon was sliced nearly perfectly in half, marking the midway point of its cycle, and hung huge and bright in the night sky. There were no clouds tonight, and the stars speckled the inky sky like so many pinpoints. All in all, James felt horribly tiny, distant, and all together insignificant. The night sky had always made him feel like that; there was no romance in it for him. It was the perfect atmosphere for when he was feeling sorry for himself.

Back at home, when his parents were both far too busy for him, he'd always climb onto the roof of the house and stare at the stars, thinking about nothing, and just wait for the weight of the universe to smother him. He'd slipped one night, and had fallen three whole stories to the hard earth below, his fall mercifully broken by a pine tree. Half of the skin on his bare arms and face had been ripped off by the sharp needles and branches, and his arm had shattered on impact. He remembered every detail about that night- the smell of pine and syrup and blood and earth. The vibrations running up and down his body when he's actually hit the ground. The maddening throbbing sensation that followed after the vibrations had stopped. He remembered the salty taste of his tears leaking down into his mouth, and the metallic taste from when he'd bitten his tongue. He remembered the sound of panicked voices, and then a shrill scream.

_So this is seven,_ he remembered thinking to himself before slipping into unconsciousness.

His mother had screamed at him when he finally woke up in his small hospital bed. She had said all sorts of horrible things, most of which James didn't really hear or remember because of the ringing in his ears and the anaesthetic potions running through his veins. But he knew he'd done wrong, and he'd apologized. Then she'd broken down into sobbing tears, and held him for hours and hours.

She'd stayed home for a whole month, talking with him, and making him meals, and reading him books. She sang. She'd turned away anyone who called on them, saying that her little boy was sick, and that he needed her.

The night it happened, James's father called off work for the next day. His mother had slept in a chair, her form draped half onto her son's bed, her hand holding his tightly. His father sat in a chair in the corner of room, watching them both sleep. The first night James had come home from the hospital, he'd done the same thing.

It was James's best memory.

James jumped when he felt the barn owl prick him with its talons as it took off into the night. He looked down at his bare arm, at the small slashes lining it and the blood beginning to well up there. Looking out into the night, he felt – not tired, but lethargic. He got up, sparing a quick glance out the window to the ground thirty stories below, thinking that if he slipped this time, there wouldn't be nearly as happy an ending.

* * *

James stayed in bed for most of Sunday. He'd found his way back to his dormitory without incident the night before, but it had been quite late when he left the Owlery; he had checked the clock when he snuck into the room, and thought he'd read four before falling unconscious. It had been an uncomfortable sleep, and James had a headache when he woke up. So for the first time, he drew his bed curtains shut. He buried his head under his pillow, curled into a tight little ball, and refused to move. He slipped in and out of consciousness for most of the day, his body trying to compensate for the lack of food and the late-night wanderings he'd subjected it to. He was making himself sick, he knew, and he didn't really care. Being in bed in the heat of midday was making him far too hot and sweaty. His headache had gotten worse, and he felt nauseous, and no matter what he did, he couldn't get comfortable. He wondered if this was what it really meant to be homesick. He fleetingly wondered if homesickness could kill you.

When he couldn't sleep anymore, he just lay all curled up in his bed, staring at the drapery surrounding him. He refused to get up except in the case of a very drastic emergency. Unfortunately, and very much against his will, he felt an emergency creep up on him, and a trip to the bathroom became very necessary.

When James stumbled out of the curtains surrounding his bed (there was a very good reason James never closed them), he saw the form of another person sitting at the desk, writing. Judging by the general shape and colouration of the blur, James thought it to be Lupin. He groped at his night table for his glasses, and, shoving them onto his face, soon found that he was right. Lupin was sitting at the desk, quill in hand, in the process of writing in some sort of notebook. Except that he wasn't doing much writing, since he was looking at James.

"You're alive," Lupin said quietly, although it was perfectly audible in the dead silence of the room. James made some strange noise and ruffled his hair. He felt like a mess, and probably didn't look much better, he knew.

"Are you all right?" Lupin asked. He sounded genuinely concerned, but like he wasn't sure he ought to be asking.

"Peachy," James muttered, and sat back on his bed, gripping his throbbing head in both hands and ignoring his protesting bladder.

"You don't sound peachy," Lupin stated, his voice sounding different. When James actually thought about it, he would find that it sounded firmer. "And you definitely don't look it. In fact, you look a little like a cross between a vampire and a dead fish." James laughed, and then groaned loudly.

"Hold that, I'll be back," he said, and stumbled into the bathroom.

* * *

When James came back out, he stood a little bit straighter. His head still throbbed, and his body still ached from neglect, and he was really very hungry, he found, but that was all right. Because something ground-shaking had happened.

"Twenty-six," James said, and Lupin looked at him, confused. "In a row. You just said twenty-six whole words in a row!"

"I do that from time to time," Lupin replied, looking at James like he'd lost his mind. James ignored that.

"Hey, are you hungry?" James asked Lupin. Lupin seemed to think about it for a moment before replying.

"I might have more of an appetite if you would put on some trousers." James laughed, feeling better than he had all week.

"Deal. Let's get lunch."

"Dinner," Lupin corrected, and James shrugged.

"Food is food," James said, pulling on some trousers and a robe. Lupin scrawled something into his notebook, blew on the ink to dry it, then shut it, and tossed it onto his bed. The two boys left the dorm room together, James jabbering about nothing.

"You know, you're pretty funny," James told Lupin, who gave James another one of those considering looks. It seemed Lupin wasn't quite sure what to think of James. But in the end, Lupin kind of half-smiled, which James took as a definite start.

* * *

A/N: Well, I think that was a bit of a change from other chapters. Or at least I hope it was...Still lacking in a solid plot, but we're getting there! (Keep in mind I'm new at this whole "plot" thing...) Well anyway, please please please review, and if you do, you can see a response on my bio page . Cheers all! 


	6. Chapter Four

**DISCLAIMER: See last page**

**Warning! This chapter contains scenes with coarse language, and may offend some readers (particularly if you speak French). Reader discretion is advised. (It really isn't too bad, though...)**

* * *

"_They say, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend", right? Well, what happens if the enemy of my enemy is also my enemy? Which enemy do I choose to make my friend? How do I know which enemy is the lesser evil? And what if I don't want to be friends with either of my enemies? But then, what if my two enemies decide to team up against me, like I would have done to them? Then I'd be the friendless enemy! Or what if we all stay enemies, and it's just a big free-for-all. What happens then?"_

"_Rock, paper, scissors." _

– _James and Sirius, sixth-year, after History of Magic, letters from home, a confrontation with Snape, a fight with Evans, and a once-full bottle of Ogden's._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Pettigrew was at breakfast Monday morning. James saw him sitting about mid-way down the Gryffindor table, the spot next to him conspicuously empty. He wandered towards Pettigrew, formulating the questions he wanted to ask (most pressing, where he'd been all weekend) when he caught Lupin's a way down the table. Lupin bashfully half-smiled in greeting, but quickly turned back to his meal. James watched Lupin for a moment, wondering where to sit, which roommate to choose. He looked down at Pettigrew in front of him, who was looking up expectantly. Suddenly, the answer came to James, and he had to roll his eyes at himself.

"Come on, Pete," James said, coming up behind the smaller boy. He tilted his head to the side, gesturing at Lupin sitting all by himself, then walked off. He heard Pettigrew get up and follow him.

James dropped into the empty seat in front of Lupin, who looked up, surprised. Pettigrew slid into the seat next to James and nodded to Lupin. James smiled.

"Good morning! Lovely day, isn't it? Would you pass the waffles please?" Lupin's lip twitched a little at the side, but he obliged James. Pettigrew glanced up at the charmed ceiling, and the dark grey clouds rolling about menacingly. James took the waffles from Lupin and piled a small stack onto his plate, next to the sausages he'd dished himself, and proceeded to drown his entire plate in syrup. He licked syrup off his fingers, his insides melting in rapture as the sweet taste of the imported delicacy covered his tongue.

"You seem to be in quite a cheerful mood," Lupin said with a small grin as he played with his scrambled eggs with his fork.

"And why shouldn't I be?" James said with a mouthful of waffle, and Lupin grimaced in disgust. James shrugged and turned to glare suspiciously at the small boy next to him. "So Pete, where'd you disappear to all this weekend? I was starting to think McGonagall had turned you into a newt and sold you in Knockturn Alley or something," James said when he'd swallowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Black enter the Great Hall and walk down the narrow pathway between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Black sat a little way down the table from them, close enough to hear what they were saying over the din of chattering voices, James noticed, but far enough away not to be too conspicuous. James tried to ignore him and listen to Pettigrew's answer, but he found himself unwittingly glancing over at his estranged roommate every now and again.

"Oh Peter, I'm sorry," Lupin was saying. James looked over and saw Pettigrew shrug.

"S'all right. I didn't really like my grandfather much anyway," he said, staring at his breakfast.

"Is that why McGonagall wanted to see you on Friday, then?" James asked. "Because your grandfather died?" Peter nodded.

"I had to go back for the funeral, and to help out my mother and grandmum," he said.

"How's your grandmum taking it?" Lupin asked with concern.

"Oh she's fine," Pettigrew said lightly. "She liked him even less than I did." James snorted into his orange juice. Lupin dropped the subject.

"Oh look, post's here," James said a moment later, looking up, his mouth half-full of food again.

"You really oughtn't do that," Lupin told James flatly. "You might choke. Or else I will."

"Sowwy."

Hundreds of owls swooped majestically into the Great Hall, carrying letters and packages of varying sizes, and leaving feathers all over people's breakfasts. An energetic little tawny owl landed in front of James, carrying a letter for him. James untied the letter and fed the bird a whole syrupy sausage. His face contorted in all sorts of undignified expressions as he skimmed through the letter his mother had written him.

"Oy, Potter," said Frank Longbottom, coming up behind James and leaning over onto the table beside him. "Your dad's in the paper."

"Oh really?" said James distractedly. He rolled his eyes a final time and put his mother's letter aside.

"Someone was murdered," Frank said mysteriously, and both Lupin and Pettigrew looked at him in shock.

"Well that sucks," James said. "Must've been pretty gruesome if my dad was called in."

"Yeah," Frank said with a nod. "And apparently it was totally random. Nothing stolen, no shady business with anything illegal…" Frank pulled out the morning edition of _The Daily Prophet_. "Just some poor schlum who worked at the Ministry. Desk job, just a paper-pusher."

"Well let's see," James said, taking the paper from Frank and skimming the article. "Hey Pete, how'd your granddad die?" he asked Pettigrew as an afterthought.

"I dunno. Nothing sinister, though; he wasn't murdered," Pettigrew said. "I think he was just old. He was retired anyway." James grunted in acknowledgement. He finished reading the article and sighed heavily, his spirits having sunk down near his trainers.

"What about your dad?" Lupin asked. James shrugged and passed the paper to Lupin.

"Just mentions him," James told him. "Just that the case was funny enough that he had to be called in personally, yadda yadda yadda." Lupin skimmed the article, mouthing the words to himself, until he came to the place he was looking for, then began to read out loud.

"…Magical Law Enforcement officers were called in immediately to investigate the brutal scene, where the fifty-two year old man lay slain in his Yorkshire home. Leading the investigation was Head of Department Lawrence Potter, who refused to comment, except to say that the perpetrators would be found and brought to justice. Potter has been heading the department for fifteen years, but is still active in all major police activity…"

"Wow, James, your dad is pretty important," Pettigrew said appreciatively. James smiled ruefully.

"That's what people keep telling me," he said, blushing and carefully avoiding eye contact. Frank stood up and slapped his hand on James's shoulder and ruffled the boy's hair before saying, "Well, see you mate," and heading off to his own friends.

"Oh God, apparently this guy's wife and daughter came home from shopping and found him dead on the living room floor in a pool of his own blood," Lupin said disgustedly, still reading the article.

"Okay, this is depressing," James huffed. "Anything else interesting in there?" Lupin took a deep breath and started flipping through the paper.

"Let's see…well, there's an article on the world's oldest kneazle, and someone had fraternal quadruplets – apparently each one has a different father!" Lupin said in a scandalized (and terribly overdone)voice.

"Really?" Pettigrew asked, peering over the table at the newspaper spread out in front of Lupin.

"You made that up," James said, rolling his eyes. Lupin showed James a small article on the last page, hidden off under the crossword puzzle. James snorted. "And to think, this used to be a credible newspaper. What's the world coming to?"

"Is that it?" Peter asked, reading the small article and screwing up his face.

"Pretty much. The rest is just politics and finances and stuff," Lupin said.

As Lupin was saying this, James found his eyes draw upward to the ceiling, where a very handsome scops owl was just swooping in. The Great Hall broke into fervent whispers; many students pointed up at the bird, or perhaps the scarlet envelope it carried.

"Look, it's got a Howler!" said some students.

"Someone's in for it," said others.

James was whispering much the same things to his roommates. "I wonder who it's for," Lupin said. Pettigrew paled.

"I hope it's not for me," he said meekly. James and Lupin turned to look at him in surprise.

"Why would it be for you?" James asked, wondering who in the world could be upset with a kid whose grandfather just died. Pettigrew shrugged, but looked nervous.

All three boys turned and grew silent as the bird neared. It swooped down a fair distance from where they sat, and all three let out breaths they hadn't known they'd been holding. Pettigrew looked a touch dizzy. As the bird descended in a leisurely spiral, as if to show off, the students beneath it all looked up to watch it, and guess where it might finally land. All except for one student. Black didn't bother looking upwards, but instead stared at the breakfast he was no longer eating. And he didn't look at all surprised when the bird finally landed in front of him.

"Blimey, it's Black's Howler!" James said in a loud whisper. He felt a slow smile spread across his face. "This should be interesting."

"He's not opening it!" Pettigrew whispered anxiously after a long moment, eyes darting from Black to his roommates.

"What happens if he doesn't open it?" Lupin asked, leaning forward. He'd obviously never seen a Howler before, but could tell it was nothing good.

"It explodes," James said, sounding knowledgeable. "And then you hear what it has to say anyway." James hadn't taken his eyes off Black, who was glaring defiantly at the owl in front of him. The owl glared back at Black (James hadn't known owls could glare) and hopped forward aggressively, stabbing Black's hand with its beak. Black swore curtly, and the sound echoed through the silent hall. He swatted at the bird, which took to the air to avoid Black's hand and to nip him on the ear. It landed in front of Black again and held its leg out expectantly.

"Stupid pigeon," Black grumbled as he sawed through the string on the bird's ankle with his steak knife. He threw it loudly to the table once the letter was in his hands. The owl glared at him a last time before taking off.

James, Lupin and Pettigrew all watched expectantly, along with all the other students in the Great Hall, as Black tore through the wax seal on the scarlet envelope. James felt his stomach stir in anticipation. Black unfolded the letter and laid it on the table in front of him. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, looking completely unfazed, and waited to hear what it had to say.

"_Congratulations, Sirius, you've done it again,"_ came the cold, amplified voice of a very dignified, very vehement sounding woman. James had to guess it was Black's mother. Black, to his credit, hadn't flinched even a little. "_Once again, you've managed to make an ass of yourself, and embarrass the entire family. I've never been more ashamed to call you my flesh and blood. When your cousin Bellatrix wrote us the news of your placement, your father had a fit! The poor man is ashamed to show his face at work because of you! _Centuries_ of tradition, ruined because of your selfishness! _

_You are your father's first-born son, Sirius, and as such you have certain responsibilities to this family! You represent the house of Black. You are supposed to provide a respectable example for your brother. But instead, you spit at your family, and the privileges it has provided you. You have so much potential, and yet you insist on making everyone's lives a miserable Hell. What kind of gratitude st that? There are days I wish I had just fed you to the crows. _

You have disgraced your family, Sirius, and once again it will be up to your poor brother to mend the damage you have wrought. I only thank God one of you turned out right. I honestly don't know where I went wrong with you, or if some ill-sorted fate is punishing me for some sin. I don't know what else I can say, Sirius. You do not deserve the name you have been blessed with. Don't come home for Christmas."

With that final note, the messaged expired. The Great Hall was in a state of silent shock. All eyes were on Black, who was staring unfixed at the far wall in front of him. His expression was carefully stoic, his grey eyes flat and emotionless. The sound of someone pushing their chair back nosily at the opposite end of the room drew all eyes suddenly to the Slytherin table, where stood a slender girl with long black hair and a gaze that could set ice on fire. James recognized her from the Opening Feast, and shuddered.

"Blood traitor," she said firmly. Although she had not spoken loudly, the words echoed mercilessly through the still chamber so that she may as well have screamed it. The girl grabbed her book bag and stormed out of the Great Hall, several of her classmates following in her stead. Black didn't turn at the accusation. Instead, he shrugged offhandedly and started shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth. Once the Slytherin fifth-years had made their exodus, all eyes once again returned to Black, who ignored them all with practiced ease.

"All right, that is quite enough of that! Everyone tuck in before this wonderful meal turns cold!" The students all jumped at looked at the Head Table, where Professor Dumbledore stood, looking much firmer than his light words had sounded. The students all turned back to their meals and were soon chatting with each other as if nothing had happened.

James glanced at Black, who was still ignoring everyone, before turning back to Lupin and Pettigrew.

"So… d'you think it's going to rain?" he asked lamely, but Lupin and Pettigrew both looked up to check the ceiling. He wasn't quite sure why, but James was quite determined to keep the conversation off his roommate. Perhaps to spare him at least that, because there was sure to be plenty of other people taking about him. He told himself it was because it was none of his business, but in truth, when he allowed himself to admit it, it was because he kind of felt bad about the whole thing, even though it _was_ Black. And really, whether he liked it or not, they were both Gryffindors, and Gryffindors had to stick together.

* * *

Black was his usual obnoxious self in classes that day. He sat there looking full of himself, making wisecracks when he deigned to speak. He didn't bother with such trivial things as note taking, and would put all his effort into ignoring James (who pointedly tried to return the gesture) while subtly doing all sorts of little irritating things to distract him. He'd chat and laugh with other students, and try his best to make his teachers' lives a living nightmare. It was as if nothing had happened that morning, nothing out of the ordinary, at least. 

James had the nagging feeling that, in fact, it might not have been.

By lunch, James wasn't really thinking about the events of the morning, either, but rather was fuming at the fact that their first-ever (official) flying lesion had been cancelled because of something so trivial as a lightning storm. James was ranting this point to Frank, who had the misfortune of having a study period at the time and not the foresight to avoid the Great Hall. So even though James knew quite well that Frank wasn't listening to a word he said, he kept on, and Frank made appropriate noises in all the right places and pretended to care, for which James was quite grateful.

James eventually found himself telling Frank about his late-night encounter with the Head Boy, and his consequent loss of points, which actually seemed to pique Frank's attention.

"When was this?" Frank asked, looking up from his homework.

"That was Friday night, just past curfew. And I mean only just!" James whined plaintively. "But I saw him again on Saturday, a little after midnight. He was just kind of skulking around in the dark…" Frank gave James a speculative look.

"What were you doing wandering around at midnight?" he asked in his sneaky prefect voice.

"Couldn't sleep," James muttered with a shrug. Frank raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue the point.

People were beginning to trickle into the Great Hall for lunch, chatting quietly amongst themselves. James and Frank both discreetly watched Black as he walked down to the end of the table, although Frank lost interest when Alice slid into the seat beside him. James could see more of Frank's friends approaching and, deciding he didn't want to be a nuisance, vacated his seat.

Without completely realizing what he was doing at first, James wandered further down the length of the table and slid into the empty place in front of Black. Black glanced up, a look of curiosity and suspicion crossing his face momentarily. James, making a split-second decision, took a deep breath and met Black's steel gaze with an almost friendly, only somewhat forced grin.

"All right?" said James, grabbing a roll of bread as food began to appear in the serving dishes before them. Black shrugged nonchalantly, effectively brushing off the question. The two boys sat in silence, filling their plates as the whim overcame them. James picked at his roll, balling up little bits of soft bread and arranging them on his plate. Black, on his part, tried to liquefy his serving of sweet potatoes.

"So…" James started, searching for some conversation starter.

"So," Black replied, watching James with wicked amusement.

"Sucks about the weather, eh?" James said lamely.

"It does," Black answered. Silence followed once again, and James quickly started feeling uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what he'd been trying to accomplish, sitting down with Black, but he was pretty stuck now.

James watched in morbid fascination as Black poured a dabble of milk into his potatoes and started whisking them with his fork. Black scooped up a forkful and let it dribble back into his plate, measuring the consistency.

"What are you doing to those potatoes?" James blurted when he couldn't stand it anymore.

"What are you doing to that bread?" Black returned. James looked down at his plate and saw that he'd created himself a little army of bread balls.

"Well at least mine are still edible," he muttered defensively, feeling a warm blush creep up his neck. Black smiled with what could have been a laugh, and returned his attention to his plate of what had once been sweet potatoes.

The Great Hall was now steadily filling up with students and teachers, and the noise level had increased rather dramatically. James watched them enter in small clusters, mostly by year, house, gender, and more usually, some combination there of. He saw the Head Girl chatting near the doors with a group of girls from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. James saw her look over in his general direction and was surprised when she gave a small wave. He was more surprised when he saw Black give an embarrassed little wave, his cheeks looking distinctly rosy.

"You know the Head Girl?" James asked Black with a suggestive smirk. Black shot James a dirty look.

"That's my cousin Andy," he growled at James.

"Cousin? God, there're more of you?" James asked Black, who was lifting forkfuls of potato mush and letting it dribble back into his plate.

"Yeah, what of it?" Black challenged. James couldn't really think of any way to respond, so he shrugged.

"And what about the talking glow-worm?" James asked, gesturing at the Head Boy who'd just walked in to the Hall. The Head Boy stood gallantly next to Black's cousin Andy, who visibly shrunk away from him.

"What about him?" Black asked, glaring disgustedly at the Head Boy.

"He seems like he could be a relation of yours," said James. Black sniffed a laugh.

"Oh, my family would love it if they could get Lucius Malfoy into the family. My aunt's been trying to set Andy up with him for ages, but she keeps saying she's 'simply got too much else to do'. So now I think she's trying to set him up with Bellatrix." Black gestured to the opposite end of the room, and James's eyes flashed over to the Slytherin table, where his eyes were immediately drawn to the dark-haired who'd stormed out at breakfast. She was surrounded by a rather large group of Slytherin boys, most of who looked as though they couldn't tell whether they wanted to get closer to or farther away from her in a hurry.

"Scary," James muttered.

"That's what Malfoy's saying," Black laughed.

"So why aren't you over in Slytherin with your family?" James asked after a moment. Black started smacking his potatoes with the flat bottom of his fork, making a loud _fwapping_ sound.

"Search me. Why don't you ask the hat?" he replied darkly.

"I just thought most family members got sorted into the same House," James replied honestly.

"Were you?" Black asked.

"Yes," James said.

"And is that what you wanted?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" James huffed. "_Yes,_ I wanted to be in Gryffindor!"

"Merlin, calm down. Don't get your knickers all in a twist," Black said, a shifty smile growing across his face. "You just don't really seem the Gryffindor type."

"How would you know what type I am?" James growled, his eyes narrowing. "You don't know anything about me."

"Imagine that," Black muttered. James snarled in frustration, racking his brain for something to say. Finally, he just decided to jump right to the point.

"Look, Black, we don't really get along, but the thing of it is, I think we should try to get along. We're stuck with each other whether we like it or not, so we should probably at least try to be civil, make life easier for the both of us."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Black said with a grimace.

"Look, I know what it's like not to have friends – "

"Screw you, Potter. You don't know shit about me," Black snapped, standing up abruptly. "You're just a spoiled little brat who thinks he's so much better than everyone else, and I for one am not about to swoon in your presence. I don't want or need your pity, so you can just shove it." With that final remark, Black stormed out of the Great Hall, leaving James to seethe quietly.

* * *

The rain persisted throughout the day, much to James's dismay. A whole day in the school made him feel claustrophobic, despite the size of the building, so after dinner he snuck out to the courtyard. He strolled around unhurriedly, breathing the cold air deeply, letting himself get thoroughly soaked, pretending to himself that the cold rain wasn't freezing him to the bone. The blackened sky flashed fairly regularly, searing white and blue images of marble pillars and towering trees into his eyes. He spent his time alone sorting through his thoughts, letting the rain numb him pleasantly. At first, he reviewed his lessons in the dark, the answers to questions and problems coming to him with the sudden flashes of lightning. His mind wandered this way and that with the changing of the wind's direction, and by the time the rain was falling almost horizontally, his mind had wandered to the events of that morning's breakfast. He recalled the glazed look in his roommate's grey eyes, the carefully void expression that could only come from hours of practice and all too frequent use, James knew from experience. 

James sighed, swallowing the rainwater that trickled into his mouth. Thunder rumbled off in the distance, and James could feel it in his bones. He let the ominous sound lead him to thoughts of the afternoon. The coldness of Black's voice, his rude, arrogant poise.

_I don't want or need your pity, so you can just shove it._

He'd been trying to do the right thing. Trying to be nice. Trying to make amends. But no matter what he did, Black didn't want any of it. So screw it. James focused on these thoughts, feeling his anger rise and warm him from the inside out. A sudden crash of thunder combined with a blinding flash of light made James wince, so he headed inside, clinging to his anger. Still, he couldn't completely ignore the churning in his stomach.

* * *

Later that evening, James sat with Lupin and Pettigrew at a corner table in the Gryffindor common room, dripping all over Peter's Potions text. 

"You're going to catch pneumonia," Lupin told James, eyeing the puddle on the polished oak table. "Why don't you go change?"

"In a second," James said absently, scribbling something on Pettigrew's parchment. "There, get it?" he asked the boy.

"You're leaking on my neck," Pettigrew muttered, and James rolled his eyes.

"But you see what I mean?" James asked more persistently. "If you put in the shrivelfig before the belladonna, your head will shrink." Peter gulped loudly. Lupin looked up, his brow scrunched.

"Are you sure?" Lupin asked.

"That's what Slughorn was saying," James answered.

"That's wrong."

James, Pettigrew and Lupin looked over by the fire, where the voice came from. Black was sitting in an armchair, his own Potions text spread over his lap.

"What do you mean, it's wrong?" James asked defensively. He'd been the one to take notes in class that day, not Black. Black looked back with a knowing smirk, then transferred his gaze directly towards Pettigrew. James felt his temper bubble and ran a hand through his dripping wet hair.

"You want to use shrivelled fig, not shrivelfig. There's a huge difference, since shrivelfig isn't actually a fig. The fig has to go in before the belladonna because when you mix powdered belladonna with the Kappa blood in the potion, it releases this gas that pretty much sucks the moisture out of air and skin. The fig juice prevents that; something about a buffer."

"I sure don't remember Professor Slughorn saying all that," Lupin said to James. James glared at Black.

"Yeah, he just made that up," James spat. Black glanced around the room.

"Hey, Evans," he called across the room, and a small girl with long dark red hair spun away from her friends. "You ever heard of a shrivelfig?" he asked. The girl scrunched her nose.

"Shrivelfig? No, I don't think so," she said, sounding confused. Black turned back from James.

"See? She's never heard of it, cause Slughorn never mentioned it."

"Oh please, you're just trying to show off!" James growled. Black glared daggers for a second, his face suddenly turned cold. Another second, and he was back to his old, carefree self, shrugging and turning back to his own notes.

"Fine. Suit yourself. I was just trying to help," he said lightly. "Although, Pete, you may want to double-check in your text." James would have shot back a sharp retort, but it was lost in a violent sneeze.

"James, go change!" Lupin told him, and James stalked up to his dorm room.

He was out of his wet robes and just pulling off his dripping tee shirt when he decided to storm over to his bed and start digging through his book bag. He pulled out his Potions notes and squinted at his messy shorthand. After several minutes of close scrutiny, he finally decided that it could have meant either version.

"Oh shut up," he grumbled in frustration. Half naked and still in his wet trousers, James sat down at the writing desk with his Potions notes and a new parchment to carefully transcribe his notes legibly.

* * *

"Ah! Geez Nick! Watch it there!" James was running late for Charms the next morning (so what else was new?), and had run headlong through the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington. James felt a series of sticky chills race up and down and through his body, like he was being gift-wrapped in cobwebs. 

"So sorry!" Nick called with a tip of his hat. This unfortunate action tilted his mostly severed head off the stump of a neck it was precariously propped up on. James shuddered and kept running.

* * *

"Look, I know I'm late, but I swear it's not my fault!" James beseeched. His luck being what it was, he'd managed to run straight into the Head Girl on his mad dash to Charms. Frustrated endlessly by his own ineptitudes, James fidgeted anxiously, waiting for the older Slytherin to give him an earful and dock more points. 

"Don't worry about it," James heard the girl say, and started. "I know how easy it is to get lost in this place – I had trouble with it until well into my third year. There are days where I still don't know exactly where I'm going!" The Head Girl smiled sweetly and laughed. It was a nice laugh. "So, where are you headed?"

James stood flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Y-you mean I'm not in trouble?" he finally managed to stammer. The Head Girl chuckled.

"Of course not." She smiled still, and James found himself feeling like a cornered mouse being groomed by the housecat. "Now which class did you say you have?" the girl asked.

"Charms," James told her, eyeing her warily.

"Just keep going down that hall there," she pointed. "You should hurry up, though. You're not late yet – you could just make it!"

James was just stammering a 'thank you' when a sudden uproar of livid voices came bouncing through the wide hall. The Head Girl turned towards the direction the angry sounds were coming from and was soon heading off that way. Unable to ignore his curiosity, James followed after her.

"You are a disgrace to the whole family, Sirius!" an enraged female voice shrieked.

"Good!" Black shouted back, just as James rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. He pressed himself against the wall, well out of the way. Black appeared to be in a heated argument with an older Slytherin girl. By this time, James had gotten to know the girl's face fairly well, and immediately recognized her long black hair and scarlet lips. It was the girl from breakfast, Black's cousin, if he remembered correctly.

"Bellatrix!" the Head Girl snapped, and only then did James remember that she was also Black's cousin.

"The Blacks are a noble and ancient family, with not a _trace_ of impurity in the history of their bloodline," the girl called Bellatrix was hissing to her younger cousin, ignoring the Head Girl completely. Black snorted at her remark. "And you're running around with a bunch of half-breeds and mudbloods! A whole house of them!"

"Oh please, what's so bloody great about Slytherin anyway? Bet there're half-bloods there too," Black shot back.

"Sirius, stop it," the Head Girl said firmly, but was ignored.

"You're just pissy because I didn't do what my mummy told me to, like you always have. Because I actually had the balls to be different!" Black was still saying to Bellatrix.

"It is _tradition_, Sirius. Generations of tradition!" Bellatrix shouted.

"Merlin, are you all programmed from birth to say that?" Black said, rolling his eyes. Bellatrix looked like she was about to throw a real fit, or something harder if she could find anything.

"Even _Andromeda_ is in Slytherin, Sirius," Bellatrix growled, pointing at the Head Girl, acknowledging her presence for the first time, "and she's as soft as they come! But at least _she_ understands the concept of honour!"

"So conformity now amounts to honour?"

"Bellatrix, Sirius, stop this now!" the Head Girl, Andromeda, shouted, her fists clenched at her sides. "Don't make me take points from my own house, sister."

"_Tousjour pur,_ Sirius. That is our family motto – " Bellatrix snarled.

"Alors vive la tare!" Black snapped back.

"T'es une vrai plaie, tu sais!"

"Va te faire foutre!"

"Taissez-vous, les deux!" the Head Girl bellowed, and James jumped. Both Black and the girl turned, red in the face and fuming out the ears. The Head Girl was practically snarling at them both. "Stop this right now and _get to class!_"

"Oh shove it, Andromeda," Bellatrix snapped.

"Now, Bella, that is no way to talk to your sister," came a cold, drawling voice that made James's skin crawl. The Head Boy stood next to Andromeda as if he'd been there the whole time. The Head Girl flinched when he spoke. "Now darling, get to class and save your family squabbles for your own time, not your professors'." Bellatrix glared at everyone, as if for good measure.

"Fine," she spat finally, and turned briskly, her hair snapping out behind her like a whip, and stalked down the corridor.

"Sirius, you and your friend had better get to class, too," Andromeda said, a distinct weariness in her firm voice. Black rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath as he marched off. James followed silently behind him.

"That was pretty intense –" James started to say after a moment of heavy silence.

"Shut up," Black snapped, and James shut up. "Just don't."

"Alright," James said, and bit his tongue.

* * *

James decided to follow a hunch later that night. Listening for the sounds of his sleeping roommates, he peered out the dorm room window, catching fragmented glimpses of the moon, just over half full. If he had to guess, he'd say it was nearing midnight. He slid his glasses out form under his pillow and onto his face. The clock on the wall read 12:18. Creeping quietly out of bed, James snuck over to his trunk and pulled out his black school robes and slipped them over his head, figuring they'd be harder to see in the dark than his sleepwear. Making doubly sure that he had his wand, James crept out of the first year dorm room. 

The halls of the stony old castle were mostly quiet, save for the sounds of slumbering portraits and rain pattering persistently outside (_Well, that's Britain for you,_). James kept his wand lit, but sheltered the glow with his hand like a candle. He wandered aimlessly for about an hour, not finding anything, and definitely not what he was looking for. He found himself drifting in the direction of the Owlery, where he'd last seen his quarry. He jumped behind an old suit of armour when he saw Peeves the Poltergeist pass by, undoubtedly up to no good. The suit's metal helmet turned around and peered suspiciously down at James, and the boy had to stifle a surprised yelp. He un-wedged himself from his hiding spot and scurried down the dark corridor, his hand over his heart, muttering over and over to himself, "It's just enchanted. It's not possessed."

He finally came to the long flight of stairs that would take him up to the Owlery when he saw what he was looking for. The Head Boy was descending the steps in a hurry, looking around himself suspiciously. James tucked himself into a decorative groove in a wall and listened to the sound of the Head Boy's shoes tapping against the marble floor. When James felt the sound was far enough away, he re-entered the empty hallway, looking after the dark figure disappearing in the gloom.

"Who's he owling at this hour, I wonder," he said quietly to himself.

* * *

James sat in History of Magic class, completely absorbed in deep thought. He'd witnessed the Head Boy lurking about the halls at night every day that week. He'd ran this information by Frank,who'd said it was odd, yes, but that it was best not to trifle with Lucius Malfoy. Then he'd gone on to lecture James about sneaking around past curfew, and about how he should be docking points, at which point James stopped listening. 

James barely registered that class was over, and only got up when Pettigrew prodded him with his wand. James grabbed his bag and followed his roommate out of the lecture hall.

On Thursdays, History of Magic was followed by lunch, but James found he wasn't feeling particularly hungry. He told Pettigrew as much, who shrugged and, after some persuasion, went on without him. On a whim, James decided to go down to the dungeons to find Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master. Although he'd been taking care to keep more legible notes, James was still having trouble deciphering the set about the figs.

James descended a set of stone stairs and felt the temperature drop several degrees. The stony dungeons at Hogwarts were always dark, always murky, and even in the middle of summer, were always cold. The walls were lined with torches in metal brackets, and the fires cast ominous shadows over the stonework. The doors were made of a warm, solid wood, but did little to soften the atmosphere. James had always imagined the villains in his books hiding out in places like this. He couldn't imagine how Slughorn, who always dressed in lavish outfits and who was obviously a firm believer in luxury could stand to be held up in a place like this for the best part of the day.

James rounded a corner and groaned when he saw Black in close conversation with another boy. This boy was a Slytherin, but it was quite apparent that he was no relative of Black's. The coloration of the two was similar, dark hair and pale skin, but this boy was more of a sickly pale, like he hadn't seen sun in quite a while, as opposed to the marble complexion attributed to the Blacks. This other boy was built much differently than Black as well – he was tall and wiry where Black was stockier. He also did not have the carved, aristocratic features of the Blacks; he had a thin face, pointed chin, and a rather large, crooked nose.

The two boys appeared to be arguing quietly about something, which didn't really surprise James in the least. James took their lowered voices to be a good sign and decided to pass by, preferably unnoticed.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is, but why don't you just leave me alone?" James heard Black say to the boy. "I'm asking nicely for the last time."

"Are you threatening me?" the other boy asked indignantly.

"Not yet, I'm not," Black growled. "Look, I am not in a good mood right now, I've had a really shitty week, so if you'll please just –"

"May I ask what is going on here?" came a now familiar and altogether unwelcome voice.

"Nothing's going on here, Malfoy," Black said through gritted teeth.

"Don't you get cheeky with me, boy," the Head Boy snapped at Black, who pursed his lips shut. Malfoy turned to the Slytherin first. "Was he threatening you, Severus?" he asked. The boy shot a cold glare at Black, who returned it with interest, and then turned back to the Head Boy and nodded.

"I didn't do anything, sir," the boy, Severus, said.

"What!" Black exclaimed, and both Slytherins turned to him. "I didn't threaten him! I just –"

"That's quite enough, Black," Malfoy said, cutting him off. "Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"But –" Black protested, but Malfoy cut him off with a glare.

"Sir," James said, pretty much against his will. "Black wasn't threatening him."

"I don't need your help, Potter," Black hissed.

"It's my house you're losing points for, too," James hissed back. Malfoy glared coldly at both boys.

"You," he said to James. James turned his glare from his housemate to the Head Boy. "This is no business of yours. Move along before I feel the need to punish you as well."

"But this isn't fair!" James protested. "Black didn't say anything worse than him!" he said, pointing to the Slytherin boy.

"_Twice_ I have found the two of you bickering in the halls with some poor, undeserving casualty."

"Bellatrix started it!" Black spat.

"I wasn't even involved!" cried James.

"_You_ I have caught wandering the corridors well past curfew," Malfoy said to James. James felt heat climbing into his cheeks, fearing he'd been caught.

"That was only once," he said on a gamble. Malfoy glared at him.

"That is one time too many," he said, turning his back, his long blond hair swishing behind him. He started off down the corridor, the Slytherin first year following behind him. He stopped and peered back over his shoulder just long enough to say, "Detention. Tomorrow night. Both of you."

When they felt fairly confident that Malfoy was out of earshot, James and Black both swore feelingly.

* * *

Friday night found the two Gryffindor boys in the old trophy room, equipped with old rags and polish. The room was massive, and filled with old awards and display cases. The room sparkled from any angle, and made the air itself seem golden and warm. Heavy tapestries on the walls kept the heat from the torches in, and James was already sweating as he scrubbed the huge trophy propped between his legs. He could see the smear of polish on his nose when he crossed his eyes, and his fingers still throbbed from when the trophy had lost its balance and he'd broken its fall. 

"This is bullshit," Black muttered, scrubbing at an award plaque that displayed at least a hundred names.

"Tell me about it," James grunted in reply.

"Oh shut up, this is your fault!" Black snapped. James shot him the dirtiest look he could muster.

"How is this my fault?" James demanded, feeling a little outraged.

"If you had just minded your own business, we wouldn't be here! I'd have lost the points, and then he'd have gone on his way," said Black.

"Well excuse me for trying to defend you," James growled.

"I don't need a knight in shining bloody armour."

"This isn't my fault," James said, the beginning of an idea trickling into his mind.

"Yes it is," Black muttered defiantly.

"No it's not. It's Malfoy's!" Black looked up, seeming maybe a little intrigued. "Look, what Malfoy did was totally unfair. Just like that night he took points off me! There's no way I should have lost thirty points for getting lost in this place!" Black said nothing, so James took this as a sign to continue. "He's going after us, probably because we're Gryffindors. Have you noticed that Gryffindor already has the least points out of everyone?"

"Probably because we've already lost fifty points between us," Black said.

"Yeah, because _Malfoy_ took them from us! I mean, we haven't lost points from anyone else!" Black's expression was as vacant as usual, but James could practically see the wheels turning in his mind as the torchlight danced in his steel grey eyes.

"Alright. So what?"

"So what? So we've got to do something about it!" James said a little too enthusiastically. The trophy between his legs teetered dangerously, and James caught it before it smashed his foot.

"Do what, exactly?" Black asked, sounding interested.

"I'm not sure yet," James admitted. "But we have to get back at him. We can't take points or anything, but between the two of us, the four of us if we can talk Remus and Peter into it, we should be able to come up with something. Something to make his life miserable."

"You want us to work together? You and me?" Black asked, sounding like James had just asked him to eat a live slug.

"Look, we don't have to be friends or anything. You don't like me any more than I like you, I'm sure." Black snorted in agreement. "But this will be a lot easier if we both concentrate on him, instead of splitting the focus between him and each other." James paused, waiting to see if Black had any objections. He didn't. "We can go right back to hating each other once this is all over, but for right now, what d'you say about a truce?"

Black watched James carefully for a moment, weighing all the factors. Finally, after a long, tense moment, Black set down his plaque and walked over to James. He knelt down to meet him eye to eye, and James felt a sense of shared purpose and an understanding pass between them: _We have a common goal. This is only temporary._

"Deal," Black said finally, sticking out his hand.

James shook it firmly.

* * *

GASP Was that? Could it have been? A beginning of a PLOT? Well, I like to think so. Alright, so maybe it's not the strongest plot, but it could be fun to watch . (And really, it's the sub-plots that are really important in this.) Well anyway, tell me what you think! Imagery, mood, atmosphere, typos, all the fun stuff you hated about English class... 

Review replies are on my bio page, or will be shortly .


	7. Chapter Five

DISCLAIMER: See last page

* * *

"_Everyone's wrong sometimes. Some people are wrong more than others. Some people are more wrong than others. It's only when people won't admit to it that it becomes a real problem, though. Or if you're really wrong, about everything, all the time. That's when you get your talking privileges revoked." –James Potter, half quoting someone else, although he's not sure who._

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"The enemy is Lucius Malfoy."

It was a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon, the first really sunny day of the month, and one of the last of the season, to be sure. The warm light was streaming in through the tower window, warming the dorm room comfortably, and the birds chirped merrily in a way that was sure to become annoying before too long. But all of this was lost on James, who was set about his task in trying to recruit the aid of his fellow first-years. He paced back and forth across the small expanse of clear floor in the centre of the room, his hands clenched behind his back, his eyes fixed on the ground before him. Lupin and Pettigrew sat on one bed, watching James carefully and perhaps even a little nervously. James shot a quick glance up at them, pushing his glasses further up his nose, mostly for effect.

"Lucius Malfoy, as in the Head Boy?" Lupin asked carefully.

"The same," James said, pausing briefly, staring as if into some greater truth off in the distance. He resumed his pacing as if nothing had happened. Again, this was mostly for effect. Naturally with all these dramatics, he didn't see the look Lupin exchanged with Black. Black was stretched comfortably on James's bed, since his own was buried beneath a pile of laundry in order to give James room to pace. "Malfoy's got to pay for what he's done," James muttered darkly.

"And what's he done?" Lupin asked, and James sniffed humourlessly.

"The man's a menace to society! The bane of existence, the thorn in the proverbial side–"

"I thought that was Sirius," Peter said, and giggled at his own joke.

"Potter's just being melodramatic," Black said from across the room, eyes closed and basking in the sunlight that fell on to James's bed. "What he's trying to say is that Malfoy is a jerk."

"What'd he do?" Lupin asked.

"Well, he keeps taking points from Gryffindor for the stupidest reasons, and he threw us," he gestured at Black, "in detention for no reason at all!" James spat, feeling his back and leg muscles throb painfully as he spoke. "Gryffindor's already got the least points, and it's only been two weeks!"

"So, you're upset because he got you in trouble?" Lupin asked sceptically.

"No!" James protested, feeling heat rising up into his face. "He's – well Black said it, he's a jerk!"

"Right," Lupin said, sounding unmoved.

"It's true," Black said, sitting up and looking at Lupin. "I know Malfoy's sort–"

"Oh, you know his sort, do you?" Lupin snapped with surprising force, causing James to look at him in surprise. Lupin's eyes were narrowed towards Black, and his jaw was set firmly, making him look almost intimidating, despite the pink blotches staining his pale cheeks. "You've got him all figured out, because of some stupid rumours and stereotypes? You know, maybe Malfoy's just trying to do his job as Head Boy, by enforcing the rules!"

"Black's cousin never took points from us, and she's Head Girl," James pointed out.

"Yeah, _Black's cousin_ didn't, did she?" Lupin snarled. Black was glaring at Lupin, who met the gaze unwaveringly.

"Look, I know Malfoy – not well, mind, he never had the time of day for a dumb kid like me – but I know what he's like. He's lived a privileged life, he's never once had to lift a finger. He's a snob, and he's mean, and anyone he doesn't like, he'll make it a point to make their lives miserable. And I mean, he's that way with purebloods! Just think what he's like with like with half-bloods and – well, you know. "

"With what?" Peter asked innocently, looking confused. James caught Pettigrew's eye and mouthed the word "muggleborn".

"I'm half-blood, and I've never had a problem with him," Lupin said to Black.

"That's because he doesn't know you exist," Black told him firmly. "I've known people like Malfoy all my life, and trust me, he deserves what he's got coming." Lupin shifted his eyes to James, who had stopped pacing when the discussion had started.

"I just don't think it's very fair for you to make a judgement about someone you've never actually talked to, just because of some implanted idea you have about them." James felt himself growing more and more uncomfortable just being in the room, and couldn't quite figure out why. He mentally swatted aside the word _guilty_, which kept bouncing around inside his mind. He spared a glance at Pettigrew, who was shifting in his seat next to Lupin, looking very much like he wanted to dive under the bed, but was trying not to.

"So I take it you're not in, then?" Black asked Lupin quietly, leaning forward. Lupin held Black's eyes for a moment longer, then finally, he seemed to break. His iron-stiff posture wilted in a moment and his eyes darted across the floor for some unthreatening focal point. He suddenly looked much older than eleven, and James noticed for the first time that the boy looked unwell.

"I don't want anything to do with it," Lupin said softly. Black nodded.

"All right. No pressure," he said in a light tone that did not fit the heavy atmosphere in the room. "What about you, Pete?" he asked Pettigrew.

"Oh, I – well, I don't know," Pettigrew stammered, looking up at James.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" James said a little too loudly, making him sound a touch insane, he thought.

"Right," Pettigrew said, and James smacked his hands together loudly.

"Brilliant! That was real productive, I think. Got a lot done! Who's up for lunch?" he said hurriedly. Birds chirped cheerfully outside the window, and James led the way down to the Great Hall, even though lunch was not due to be served for another hour, at least.

* * *

"Potter, you're late."

"I know, Professor, I'm sorry," James said as he slipped into Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall gave him a stern, unamused look over her wire-rimmed spectacles.

"You are beginning to make this a habit, Potter," she told him, and he tried to look abash. "Care to explain yourself?"

"Well you see, Professor, it's a funny story, really," James laughed nervously. And James told her about his unfortunate trip to the boys room on the second floor, in which he met the ghost of a very – well, unhappy was an understatement – young girl, who would not let him alone long enough to do what he'd gone there to do in the first place. He would have left, except that he'd gone there in the first place for a very particular, very pressing matter, if she caught his drift, and that he simply could not leave until his task was accomplished, and that even if he'd left that particular restroom to find another, he'd be late to class anyway, and chances are she would have followed him through the pipes. So he'd stayed, and argued and pleaded with the ghost, who'd wailed and whined a lot, and had finally departed with a splash into a toilet. By that time, class had already started and he was ready to burst, so he might as well finish what he set out to do.

When James finished his little story, the entire class was sniggering behind their hands or into their books. James would have been embarrassed, except that he knew that everyone, including the professor, thought him to be lying. McGonagall raised an eyebrow and James grinned sheepishly.

"Five points, Potter, now please sit down," she said, and turned back to the note she was writing on the board. James slipped into his chair next to Black, who shook his head and went back to scribbling on his parchment. James noticed that there were some words written there, and some even matched what was written on the front board, but the note had mutated into some kind of medieval battle, complete with a knight in shining armour, a three-headed dragon, and a princess with a serious overbite.

"So what'd I miss?" James whispered to Black, who was giving one of his dragon's heads nose-hairs.

"Not much. Just more of what we've been talking about all last week. More notes. 'Need to understand the concept before we can actually put it to practice' and all that," Black whispered back. James pulled out a roll of parchment from his schoolbag, and then pulled out an extravagant, aggressively pink quill. James could hear the sound of giggling girls from the other side of the room. Black looked at the quill bobbing in James's hand.

"Suits you," he said simply. James made a rude gesture with the offending quill.

"This isn't my bag," James hissed, and slid down in his chair when McGonagall looked back over her shoulder. She glared at the room in general, but returned to her note. "Hey, where's Lupin?" James asked, noticing for the first time that Peter sat by himself at the table in front of them. Black shrugged.

"Dunno. I haven't seen him at all today."

"Hey, have you noticed that he's been looking really – I don't know, not right, recently?" James asked.

"Not right how?" Black asked. "I mean, he's never quite looked right, has he?" James furrowed his brow in thought. Over the past week and some, Lupin had been seeming more and more drawn. He talked less than ever, and would rarely remain in a room with his roommates longer than a few minutes except to sleep or attend class. He'd also been looking more peaky than usual, and didn't seem able to eat or sleep much.

"I don't know. He just seemed kind of ill. Like the flu or something."

"That's probably all it is, then," Black said easily, filling in little speech bubbles over his characters' heads.

"Seems an odd time to be catching the flu," James said, more to himself. He leaned over his desk and tapped Pettigrew on the shoulder. "Hey Pete, did Lupin seem ill to you recently?" Pettigrew opened his mouth to answer when McGonagall turned to the class suddenly. James dropped back into his chair – it seemed he hadn't been caught. The professor explained some of the finer points of the notes she'd just copied down. Without turning around, Pettigrew shrugged and shook his head, indicating that he hadn't noticed anything particularly odd about Lupin. James tore off a corner of Black's mutant fairytale, in which the prince fed the princess to the giant squid and ran off with the dragon (Black hissed in protest and tried to stab James's hand with his quill), and scribbled something down. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it neatly over Pettigrew's head and onto his desk in front of him.

_Are you sure?_ Pettigrew shrugged again, and James rolled his eyes.

"There. And they lived happily ever after!" Black said, leaning back in his chair, observing his masterpiece. James looked at the parchment, and then decided he shouldn't have.

* * *

Two days later was a Thursday, and Lupin still hadn't reappeared. In fact, he hadn't even been coming up to the dorm room to sleep at night, James had noticed. He would have been more worried, except this particular afternoon was the third sunny day in a row (there'd been a few, but mostly interrupted by occasional bouts of almost torrential rain, but that's Britain for you), and the warmest in a long time. James took this opportunity to drag his roommates and fellow conspirators outside into a courtyard during their afternoon break to discuss tactics, something they had been trying and failing to do for the past two weeks.

"We could try using that colour-changing Charm we learned to turn his hair blue or something," Pettigrew suggested. He hadn't been sure how involved he'd wanted to be in the plan at first, but had soon found himself caught up in James and Black's elaborate, if somewhat unfeasible, scheming.

"But it's not enough," James groaned for what felt like the millionth time. "We need something that will truly devastate him. Something he won't forget in a hurry."

"We could start a nasty rumour about him," Pettigrew said next.

"That won't work," Black said this time, peeling the bark off a twig with his thumbnail. "He's used to ignoring all sorts of rumours. I mean, there're just so many of them…"

"Black speaks from experience, of course," James said offhandedly.

"And Potter's just pissy because nobody talks to him but Moaning Myrtle," Black shot back automatically. The whole thing was said so casually, one might have thought it to be nothing more than a pleasant conversation about the weather, or something equally mundane.

"Well I don't know. I guess we could just push him down a flight of stairs or something," Pettigrew huffed. James and Black both turned to look at him, surprised.

"Geez, Pete, we're not trying to kill him," Black said, while James sniggered.

"I didn't actually mean it," Pettigrew muttered, blushing pink.

"Well, we could always approach him publicly, put up a big fuss, and start crying," James said, lying back on the cool grass, watching a pair of squirrels up in the branches of the tree they were sheltered beneath. "Then we could say tell all the Professors what a knob he is, and make him look like a horrible prig."

"You want to tattle on him?" Black asked, sounding horrified. James shrugged.

"It was just a suggestion," he said. Black shook his head, as if to rid something from his mind.

"All right. Just _suppose_ we were considering it, who could we get to cry on command?" he asked.

"Uh, good point," said James, feeling a blush creeping up his own neck. Now was probably not the time to mention that he'd mastered that particular art long ago. "Well I don't know then – we could go with the classics, put firecrackers in his porridge or something."

"And how do you plan on getting close enough to his porridge to slip firecrackers in without his noticing?" Black asked, sounding exasperated. "And do you even _have_ firecrackers?"

"Well then what's your brilliant idea?" James asked.

"I say we steal all his pants and hang them all over the Great Hall," Black announced. James and Pettigrew said nothing for a time.

"You – _what_?" James managed to spit out. "And just how do you plan to accomplish _that_?" Black shrugged. James rubbed his temples and decided to pretend it had never happened.

"We could put itching powder in his robes," James suggested.

"We could put itching power in his pants," Black said.

"Or stink pellets in his dorm room."

"Or stink pellets in his pants!"

"What _is_ it with you and Malfoy's pants?" James exclaimed, and Pettigrew broke into a fit of giggles. "Geez, if your aunt doesn't manage to marry him off to one her daughters, your mum could always give it a go, couldn't she?"

Black made a rude gesture to James, who returned it enthusiastically. Pettigrew was rolled onto his side and was quite red in the face. The last minutes of break were spent trying to convince the boy that breathing was, in fact, an essential part of living, and quite a pleasurable one, and that he oughtn't give up on it just yet. Strangely, this was generally where their discussions tended to lead.

* * *

Lupin was back in class the following day, but he looked – well, he'd looked better. In truth, James had never seen anyone look so miserable. Lupin's skin was pale and clammy, and he had very dark rings under his eyes, like he hadn't slept properly in a very long time. His face seemed to look hollowed out, giving the impression of a skeleton with shaggy, limp hair. James also noticed that Lupin was favouring one leg.

"Christ, Lupin, are you all right?" James asked him on the way back from their final set of classes for the week.

"I'm fine," Lupin said a little hoarsely. James didn't believe him one bit.

"What happened?" James asked.

"Nothing," Lupin replied immediately, grabbing the railing hard to haul himself up the stairs. James trotted up beside the shaky-looking boy, keeping slow pace.

"You sure you're all right?" James asked concernedly. Lupin lost grip of the railing for a second, but managed to keep his balance. James felt himself tense up nervously, and hoped really hard that Lupin wouldn't faint and tumble down the marble stairs. The very last thing the boy looked like he could use would be a concussion or a cracked skull.

"D'you want a hand?" James asked.

"No thank you," Lupin said polite but definite tone. James was just about to insist when Black bounded up the stairs two at a time to catch up with them.

"Hey Potter, I've had a – bloody hell, Lupin, what happened to you?" Black said, eyeing the skeletal boy.

"Nothing, I'm fine," Lupin said, a little aggressively now. Black gave him another once over and shrugged, then turned back to James.

"Right then, like I was saying, I've had a thought on what we can do to Malfoy –"

"Black, if you say the word 'pants', I'm going to push you down these stairs," James cut in.

"Sounds like _someone's_ got in and done something unpleasant to your pants drawer," Black huffed, and James sniffed a laugh.

"And I _wonder_ who that could have been."

"Must have been brownies. Tricksy little buggers, they are," Black said airily, looking up around the ceiling. "Or maybe it was house-elves, or Peeves…"

"Or maybe you're delusional," James muttered.

"Shut up. D'you want to hear my idea or not?" Black asked.

"You know, I don't think I do!" James said, his voice rising in pitch.

"Oh come on, it's not as if _you've_ had any good ideas!" Black snapped. The two boys bickered all the way back through the portrait hole to Gryffindor tower and up to their dorm room, as if having forgotten Lupin's presence, for which he looked somewhat grateful. Pettigrew was waiting in the dorm room, but his presence was basically ignored as James and Black's argument became less and less playful and more and more heated. Lupin crawled behind his bed curtains and wasn't seen for the rest of the night.

* * *

"What d'you think's wrong with him?" James whispered to Black and Pettigrew the next morning at breakfast. The Great Hall was veritably empty, since it was still fairly early for a Saturday morning. The three boys sat undisturbed at the Gryffindor table, the few other occupants having ample room to spread themselves out and maintain the privacy of their conversations. Currently, James was leaning over his cereal, which was really beginning to get soggy, whispering conspiratorially while Pettigrew sat rapt, shovelling eggs into his mouth and Black ate his sausage, rolling his eyes. When they'd left their dorm room that morning, Lupin's bed curtains had been drawn tightly around his bed, as they had been since early the previous evening. Lupin had not emerged once since he'd disappeared after class, not even for supper.

"If he wanted you butting into his business, he would have told you what was wrong," Black told James, eyeing him.

"Look, I'm just concerned is all," James insisted, stirring his cereal. "I mean really, the kid looks like death warmed over."

"And I'm saying it's none of your business," Black retorted calmly.

"Well it's none of yours either!" James snapped. "So you can't really tell me it's none of mine."

"Oh please, this is stupid," Black muttered.

"Are you calling me stupid?" said James automatically. Black glared dispassionately up at him.

"Not yet I'm not, but I'm getting there," he answered.

"Look, let's just drop this. Let's talk about something important, like the plan," James muttered.

"Right, have you had any thoughts?" Black asked.

"No," James grumbled.

"Sorry, stupid question–"

"Post's here!" Pettigrew exclaimed loudly, causing James to jump slightly. A single owl fluttered into the Great Hall and landed at the far end of the Ravenclaw table. "Oops, false alarm," Pettigrew said, blushing.

"Have you had any ideas, Peter?" James asked the small boy sitting next to him.

Pettigrew shook his head, looking regretful.

"Good discussion, everyone," Black said sarcastically. James shot him a dirty look.

"Like you've done any better!" Black gave James a smug look.

"I told you yesterday that I'd had an idea, but _you_ didn't want to hear it."

"All right, go on then," James said. Black went on to describe an elaborate plot involving bowtruckles, a fish net, and the enchanted suits of armour, and which had James's head spinning by the end of it.

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," James coughed finally, after a prolonged moment of confused silence.

"Well it didn't involve pants," Pettigrew said helpfully, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"What, you don't think we can do it?" said Black.

"I think we need help," James answered. "Maybe if Lupin would help us–"

"But Lupin wants to be left out of it," Black interrupted.

"I was just saying –" James started.

"Well don't!" Black snapped. Pettigrew's eyes widened in shock as James's narrowed in a glare.

"What the hell is your problem, anyway?" James said softly. "I just thought it would be nice of us to include him."

"And I'm just saying that we asked already, and he said no, so let's not push it," Black replied in the same, soft, carefully neutral tone.

"He only said that because he's shy," James said knowledgably. "But if we ask again, show we're serious about including him–"

"He knows, Potter, because we've asked."

"Maybe he doesn't. Maybe we need to ask again."

"Maybe we need to leave him alone. Maybe you should keep your nose out of other people's business!"

"Maybe you should just shut up!" James shouted this loudly, standing up abruptly. The bench scratched loudly against the marble floor, making several people, including Pettigrew, cringe at the sound. "This truce was a bad idea, so just forget it." James turned and stalked hotly down the Great Hall towards the exit. Pettigrew watched him go for a moment before standing up to follow.

"What of it, Pete?" Black asked, eyeing the boy carefully. Pettigrew swallowed hard.

"You're allowed to think for yourself, you know. You don't have to follow Potter." Pettigrew stood still for a moment, looking uncertain, before he finally averted his eyes and followed James out of the Great Hall.

* * *

The first week of October was spent in general tension and careful silence. James was not talking to Black at all, and Black was definitely not talking to James. Black and Lupin spoke, but carefully, and not about anything in particular, and James spoke to Lupin, who answered mostly with one or two words. Only Pettigrew was technically speaking to everyone, even Black, but Pettigrew never said much to begin with, so it basically remained that James talked to Pettigrew, who listened raptly, and Black muttered under his breath when he was forced to bear witness to this. James and Black had both encountered the notorious Head Boy again on separate occasions, both of which had resulted in the loss of yet more points to Gryffindor. Luckily, James's perfect Transfiguration of a teacup into a pincushion and Black's top score on a Defence exam had earned them enough points to keep them both from being pitched off the top of Gryffindor tower by their housemates.

Though the sky was sunny and bright, the fall air was turning crisp, and turned James's cheeks and nose pink as he and his classmates walked back up to the castle after Herbology. James was in no real rush, since all they had to return for was break, so he and Pettigrew took their time, talking and laughing and enjoying the weather. Lupin was ahead of them a ways, and James knew Black was trudging along somewhere behind them. He tried not to pay attention to either. All of his attempts at friendship with Lupin had been dismissed, and it seemed the harder he tried, the more Lupin pulled away. James was starting to wonder if Black might have had a point, and that it really was best just to let Lupin be, and not pressure him into anything, including companionship. Naturally, James dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had formed.

"Oy, what's that over there?" James said, nudging Pettigrew and pointing over a hill.

"Where?" Pettigrew said, rolling onto his toes and looking up to where James was pointing. Off in the distance, James could see a figure standing near a very tiny hut. The figure appeared to be hunched over, as if looking for something. As he and Pettigrew kept walking, James saw that Lupin had stopped in front of them and was looking in the direction of the figure as well.

"You think he's lost something?" James asked Lupin as they approached him.

"It looks as though he might have," Lupin said in his quiet way.

"What's going on?" Black asked Pettigrew when he was close enough, careful to keep far enough away from James and Lupin.

"Someone's looking for something," Pettigrew answered Black.

"Should we go help him?" James asked in general, already starting off in the direction of the figure.

"Well…"Lupin said, considering.

"Playing hero again, Potter?" Black sneered. James shot Black a nasty look over his shoulder.

"You don't have to come," James told him frankly, then took off at a jog. Pettigrew immediately started after James and, in a moment, Lupin was following at a brisk pace.

"Oh Christ," Black muttered under his breath before following.

As James approached the scene, he realised that he'd misjudged his perception of the scene; it wasn't that the hut was particularly small, he noticed, but that the figure was rather large. The bushy hair and beard and the heavy fur overcoat seemed familiar, and James finally recognized the figure of the large man from the boats that first night. Now, as James approached, he realized that the figure didn't actually seem to be looking for something as much as he was _stalking_ something…

"All right?" James said as he reached the figure. The large man jumped up in surprise and spun to face James and Pettigrew, who had only just caught up.

"Eh? What're you lot doin' here?" he asked gruffly.

"We saw you looking for something," James said brightly. "Do you need help?" Lupin and Black both trotted up to join their dorm mates.

"Wha? Oh, er, it's nothin' ter concern yerselves with –" the large man said, his eyes darting over the ground around him. "No, yer best teh be gettin' back up to the castle…"

"Are you sure?" James asked insistently. "We really don't mind. Right?" he said, addressing the boys behind him.

"Not at all," Black said when no one else spoke. The large man looked at them again, considering.

"All righ' then. But go get yerselves some gloves from the back, there, and a sack," the large man said, gesturing towards the small hut. "And be careful!" Lupin and Pettigrew both trotted off obediently in the direction indicated.

"Great, what are we looking for?" James asked, smacking his hands together enthusiastically.

"Runaway Fire Slugs," the large man muttered, bending low to the ground again.

"Runaway what?" James said dumbly, his hands frozen.

"Merlin almighty, Potter, what have you gotten us into?" Black hissed to James, who smiled nervously. He'd never heard of Fire Slugs, but the name didn't indicate anything pleasant. Which couldn't be all bad… Lupin and Pettigrew returned, Pettigrew holding a large burlap sack. Lupin passes James and Black each a pair of thick dragon hide gloves.

"Now," the large man started, "Fire Slugs might look ter be harmless, but they're fast little buggers, and, well, they didn't get their name fer nothin', yeh know." James gulped loudly as he pulled on the large gloves.

"All right, well what do Fire Slugs look like, exactly?" Black asked, just as Pettigrew let out a large, panicked shriek.

"Quick! Catch it!" the large man bellowed as he dived to the ground. He landed with a loud thud that shook the ground around them. James looked a little to the left and saw a gruesome orange slug about the size of a zucchini staring up at him with revolting little black eyes atop what basically amounted to antennae.

"Ew," Lupin said in a strangled voice.

"Awesome," James said. He watched as the large man crept carefully up behind the slug, and the slug responded by shooting a jet of fire out its tail end. Then suddenly, it was gone.

"Blast it!" the large man swore. "All righ', this is gonna be tricky! There's five more missin'. Yeh up to it?"

"Absolutely," James said automatically, genuine enthusiasm dripping from the word, and the others exchanged nervous and revolted looks.

The whole of their break was spent rounding up the Fire Slugs with the large, hairy man. James managed to catch one all on his own, as did the large keeper of the Slugs. Black and Lupin double-teamed one, and Pettigrew sustained a pretty bad burn when he tried, so stuck to holding the sac. James and the last man managed to round that slug up and throw it in the sac with the others. Finally, they were left to search the grounds for any they might have missed.

"Tha's it, I think," the large man said, nodding.

"But that's only four!" Pettigrew squeaked, struggling with the squirming sac.

"Can't have been. Musta miscounted," the large man said pensively before turning to the boys. "Thanks fer yer help, boys. Name's Rubeus Hagrid, I'm the groundskeeper here at Hogwarts," he announced, holding out a massive hand.

"James Potter," James said, shaking as much of the man's hand as he could. Introductions were made, and Hagrid took the large squirming sac from Pettigrew when they headed off towards his hut.

"Yeh boys'd better be headin' back teh the castle now. Must have class comin' up…"

"Yeah, we do," Lupin said, nodding, looking up to the castle wistfully.

"But maybe we can come back and visit?" James suggested hopefully.

"Well, if yeh wanna," Hagrid said, his beetle black eyes wide, and looking just a little shocked.

"Sounds good to me," Black said this time. To James's surprise, Black actually smiled to Hagrid. "That was kind of fun. Have you got any more interesting creatures like that?" Lupin finally, albeit reluctantly, had to interrupt Hagrid's long-winded reply to remind them all that they really did have class to be getting to, and that James had already lost enough points for lateness as it stood. As they were leaving, Hagrid invited them all to tea in his hut for the coming Saturday, which James accepted heartily on behalf of them.

"You know, that really was fun, in a disgusting, painful sort of way," Pettigrew said airily on their trek up to the castle.

"You know, it was," James replied, his eyes scanning the ground around him.

"What're you doing, Potter?" Black asked sceptically, watching James.

"Looking for that last Fire Slug," James said absent-mindedly. Black shook his head and even Lupin smiled a little.

"Maybe we should put one of those in the Slytherin dorms," Black said. James looked up at Black out of the corner of his eye.

"Does that mean the truce is back on?" he asked carefully. Black didn't say anything right away, and both Pettigrew and Lupin looked between him and James.

"I suppose it does," Black answered offhandedly. James grinned and Pettigrew gave a little cheer.

"How 'bout it, Lupin?" James said, turning to his other roommate.

"I don't think so," Lupin said politely, not turning back.

"Oh come on –" James started, but Black elbowed him in the side, a little too hard. "Fine," James said to Lupin, although he was glaring at Black. "But the option's there." This time, Lupin did look back.

"Thanks," he said softly, with a just hint of a smile.

* * *

"Hey Potter," Black hissed over the table. James leaned forward to hear what Black had to say over the loud chatter of the Great Hall in the full swing of lunch. Two weeks of plotting had gotten them absolutely nowhere, and James was finding it harder and harder to think of any ideas, even though his inspiration had far from been removed. He'd had two more encounters with the Head Boy from hell, though thanks to the merciful intervention of fate, in the forms of both arson and a gang of third years chasing Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris down a corridor respectively, he'd manage to avoid any absurd punishments. Even still, James was itching to hear something – some news, an idea, gossip, but particularly, a plan…

"What have you got?" he asked Black. Pettigrew, who was sitting next to James, leaned in to hear as well, and even Lupin had to pretend not to look interested. A slow smirk spread across Black's face, and there was a dangerous twinkle in his steel grey eyes.

"I've figured it out. I know what we should do. It's the perfect plan." There was no doubt in Black's voice, and slowly, James felt a devilish grin grow on his own face.

"All right, let's hear it…"

* * *

A/N: I know what you're all thinking right now: "We waited a whole month for _that_?" Well here's the truth: This chapter totally made me its bitch O.o I tried, I really did, but...well anyway. Review anyway, maybe I'll feel better about the next chapter, in which we finally get to see what comes of all the planning. And what is it that Sirius has come up with? You tell me. Your challenge: let me know what you want to see happen to Malfoy. I need ideas, people! The more ideas I get, the sooner I'll be able to update!

Speaking of reviews, Replies are on my bio, as is the TRANSLATION of the argument last chapter, for anyone who's interested! And also on reviews, we kinda shot right past the big five-oh last chapter! Yay! I nearly fell on my face. Funnily enough, it was my totally awesome author (for whom I beta) **Neurotica** who was number 50. Funny how that sometimes works. Anyway, I've rambled long enough. Enjoy! And review! Please. And thank you.


	8. Chapter Six

DISCLAIMER: See last page_

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_"My most embarrassing secret? I still have to check for monsters under my bed every Halloween. I blame you, Sirius."- JP.1977 "Truth or Dare"

* * *

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**CHAPTER SIX**

It was a dark and stormy morning, as terrible as that sounds. It may be horrible and clichéd, but that's what it was, and there was no help for it.

The sky outside was cloudy, enough to absorb most of the sun's light, which covered the grounds, past the forests and villages all the way to the moors beyond, in an ominous rolling shadow. A bone-chilling wind gusted through and around the ancient forest and the architecture of the great stone castle, screaming like so many lost souls; they crept up behind unwitting passers-by with such force and bitter cold as to steal the breath from their very lungs, jealous of their very ability to breathe.

Thunder rolled lazily off in the distance, promising misery to come, eventually. Thick heavy raindrops fell in ones and twos, never more, slashing through clothing and flesh alike, like a jagged, icy knife, instantaneously paralysing their victims, but only for an instant.

It was a ghastly day by any normal standard, but it was wonderful for its purpose. The dreadfulness only added to the allure of the day; a haunting appeal that sent jolts of excitement and anticipation through the body like a drug, rising and falling with every pump of the heart, each new high building on the last. Shrieks and laughter could be heard throughout the castle all day, at every crash of thunder and crack of lighting, every gust of wind and flicker of flames. Today, it was all in good fun.

Yes, it was a miserable day, but that was the best kind. It was the perfect Halloween morning.

* * *

A violent flash of lightning set James awake with a jolt. For a panicked instant, his eyes darted about him, trying to identify the unfamiliar surroundings, knowing he wasn't where he had been just moments ago. It took only a second for him to recognize the dark dorm room as his own, and he relaxed, visions of a different dark room forgotten in an instant. He found himself wide awake, despite the inky blackness beyond the window, or the ungodly hour depicted on the wall clock, which he could only make out with great effort. He sat up in his bed, concentrating on the feeling of his racing heart and the sick lump of anticipation high in his throat. He smiled, knowing what they meant. In a few hours, they would be carrying out their carefully crafted plan, and he would finally have his justice (which sounded a lot less crude that "revenge"). The low sounds of thunder rumbled off in the distance, and James wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to forget what today really was.

He heard rustling in the bed next to his and knew he wasn't the only one not sleeping.

"Black, is that you?" he asked over the sound of Pettigrew's soft snores.

"Yeah," came Black's whispered reply, after a breath.

"Can't sleep either?" James asked, gazing out the window.

"Nope."

They said nothing for another long moment, and James simply absorbed the gravity of the atmosphere and the situation. For all the lack of motion in the room, the tension from anticipation had risen to the point of being electric, and made the hairs on the back of James's neck prickle.

"So this is it," Black said from beyond his bed curtains, in a voice that tried to sound calm.

"This is it," James agreed.

"You ready?"

"I guess." James sighed, and it turned into a yawn. "You remember the plan?"

"Of course," Black replied obviously, although not really defensively. "You?"

"Yeah," James said. "And we've got everything we need?"

"Or will be getting," answered Black. Another pause, another heartbeat, and then Black said, "Should we maybe go over the plan one more time?"

"Just in case," James nodded.

They climbed quietly out of their beds and went over to the single writing table under the window. James slid his glasses on and ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair as Black sat in the chair and sifted though a small stack of parchment scraps, explaining the notes on them carefully as they went. They weren't terribly complicated notes; mostly doodles on the corner of homework, many of which had warped into something different and altogether unrelated to anything. It didn't really matter, though. They'd already been through the plan several times over the course of a few weeks, both with and without their third accomplice, Pettigrew. But they couldn't sleep, and it felt good to be doing something. And it was a pretty big scheme, and would be quite public, and so there was a pretty good chance they would get caught. But it was the risk that made it brilliant.

The details of the plan were all gone over, tweaked, and eventually finalized. It should work, in theory, so they had only to gather some last pieces of equipment and…then actually do it.

"So that's it. That's everything," Black said, leafing though the notes a final time before putting them down on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep, heavy breath. "What time is it?"

"Quarter of five," James said, glancing at the wall clock. Black checked the clock himself and swore casually.

"So now what?" he asked, tipping the chair onto its back legs.

"Should we wake Peter and go through the plan with him again?" James asked. Black shook his head.

"Let him sleep if he's not awake. He's going to need his rest."

"Yeah," James replied mindlessly, staring through the glass window. Lightning played off in the distance, like luminescent spider legs dancing through the darkness, but James couldn't even hear the thunder.

"So I guess now we wait."

"Guess so."

* * *

Classes that morning were spent fidgeting anxiously, and it wasn't just James and his fellow conspirators. Right from breakfast, students of all years peeked over their shoulders, waiting for someone to sneak up behind them and shout Boo! Which they did, and did frequently; no one was safe, not even the professors.

The Hogwarts ghosts were having the time of their lives, amusing themselves by appearing out of wall and ceilings and floors, and sometimes from nowhere at all, surprising the younger students, and not a few older ones, into fits of shrieks and laughter; even the Bloody Baron took part in the gaiety. Peeves the Poltergeist was one of the more _enthusiastic_ celebrators of the day, appearing in classes and interrupting the lessons any way he could think to, by making rude noises when the professors tried to speak, or by throwing things at students and stealing their books. Professor Dumbledore, on his part, decided to do some trick-or-treating, only in reverse, and went from classroom to classroom, disguised as Father Christmas, and distributed candy to the students. The professors, naturally, all eventually gave up on their lesson plans and gave their lessons and gave their students amusing things to do: Professor Slughorn dimmed the lights in his dungeon and told frightening stories; Professor Flitwick performed temporary glamour charms on any student who wanted, as costumes; Professor McGonagall awed her students by transfiguring paper streamers into serpents and grapes into eyeballs; Professor Sprout gave each pair of students a small pumpkin to carve a jack-o'-lantern.

But those were nothing compared to the ones Hagrid was carving for the feast that night.

* * *

"Pete, come here," James hissed, pulling Pettigrew towards him by the sleeve. "We need one about this big," he said, holding his hands up to show Black, who nodded. Pettigrew craned his head around to see what James was doing.

"Are we going to steal one or something?" Pettigrew asked, looking concerned.

"Of course not!" James said, aghast. "We wouldn't steal from Hagrid! We just have to convince him to give us one."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Black said, thoughtfully. "I mean, Hagrid loves us. Well, me at least. And he probably likes you too, Peter." James shot Black a snide glare. "We're there all the time, so I'm sure he'll be happy to donate one of his many, if it's us."

"And we don't even need a very big one," James added. "Just this big." He held up his hands again to demonstrate.

"As long as he doesn't ask what we need it for, we're golden," Black said with a confident smirk that was fairly commonplace when discussing 'the plan'.

"But what if he does ask?" Pettigrew asked uncertainly.

"We improvise," James shrugged easily. "It's us. Really Pete, we've been through all this."

"I know," Pettigrew nodded. "I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."

"Trust us," James said, throwing an arm around Pettigrew's shoulder, a grin on his face that would make a smart fish nervous about going near water.

The weather being what it was, most students stayed indoors for their afternoon break (morning break usually involved napping), so the three boys made their way across the ground to Hagrid's hut without incident. Black knocked loudly on the large wooden door of the small hut and bellowed, "Hoy, Hagrid! You home?"

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing the widely grinning face of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. The giant of a man had stringy orange goo in his bushy hair and beard, as well as all over the flowery apron he wore, and held a wicked large carving knife in his hand. The boys beamed up at him.

"Wha' brings yeh lot down here in this miserable weather, eh?" Hagrid said brightly, stepping out of the doorway.

"We're on break, so we wanted to come and see you," James said. It wasn't untrue; sure, they had an ulterior motive this time, but James really liked spending time with Hagrid. Hagrid was nice, and funny, he had great stories, and although he may not have been the best cook in the world, there was always plenty to eat. Hagrid was also one of the few things he and Black could agree on, and so many an afternoon break would find some or all of the first-year Gryffindor boys at the small hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Well don' just stand there catchin' colds, come in!" Hagrid laughed, waving them in with his knife. The boys filed in and were instantly hit with the hot, overwhelming stench of pumpkin guts. James wrinkled his nose and Black waved a hand in front of his face behind Hagrid's back; Pettigrew looked ready to be sick at any moment.

"No Lupin today?" Hagrid asked, eyeing his guests.

"Sorry, no," Black said absently, moving deeper into the hut.

"Too bad," said Hagrid disappointedly. "He's a quiet one, but I like 'im."

"We'll be sure to drag him along next time," James promised as he and Pettigrew took seats at the table in the centre of the room. The table was covered in a large cloth that tried hard to look white, but was mostly orange at the moment, and also had stains and spots of all sorts from years of wear.

"Talon looks like she'd ready to burst," Black said from the corner of the room, where he knelt scratching the ears of a very round and sleepy boarhound.

"It'll be any day now," Hagrid said, positively beaming with pride. "Should be quite a litter, too. At least eight."

"Will it be hard for her?" Pettigrew asked, leaning over to look at the dog, who was licking Black's hand.

"Naw. This innit the first lot she'll be havin'," Hagrid said, unconcerned.

"What d'you do with the pups?" James asked, interestedly. He'd always wanted a puppy. But you know how parents get.

"I give 'em ter whoever wants 'em, when they're old enough," Hagrid told them, putting a kettle to fire. "Pet stores love 'em, too; good blood in this one, and such a darlin' girl." Hagrid patted Talon on the rump and she turned from Black momentarily to give the large hand a big lick. "Now, do any of yeh wan' tea?"

"Yes please," Pettigrew said immediately.

"Sure," Black said, giving Talon a final pat on the head and coming over to the table.

"No thanks, Hagrid," James said, and stuck his tongue between his teeth. Hagrid chuckled without turning around.

"Hot chocolate, James?"

"Thanks," James said with a smile.

"So Hagrid, what're you up to here?" Black asked, peering at the pumpkin bits and carving tools spread all over the table. He caught James's eye, who grinned darkly.

"Carvin' jack-o-lanterns fer the feast tonight," Hagrid told them, carrying two steaming mugs of tea over to the boys. Pettigrew snatched his up quickly and inhaled the wispy fumes deeply. He soon took on a slightly more natural-looking colour.

"Where are they now?" James asked Hagrid, watching in slight horror as Black dumped no fewer than five sugars into his small cup.

"Out back, in the garden," Hagrid told him, handing James hit mug of chocolate. James wrapped his sleeves around his hands to hold the hot cup. "They're a bit big fer in here. Yeh wanna see?" Without waiting for an answer, Hagrid headed off towards the back door. The boys were on their feet and following in an instant.

'A bit big' had been an understatement. The smallest of the jack-o-lanterns was at least James's height, and more that three times his height in width. The faces and figures carved into the enormous pumpkins were amazingly intricate and detailed and left James dumbstruck and awed; there were witches on broomsticks, cats and trolls, hideous monster faces, and some more traditional faces.

"Hagrid, these are brilliant!" Pettigrew exclaimed, looking about him excitedly. James and Black both agreed vigorously. James looked up at Hagrid, who might have been blushing under all that bushy hair. Black and Pettigrew strayed out into the pumpkin patch, around which the vast jack-o-lanterns surrounded, apparently to get a better look at Hagrid's works. Black caught James's eye and subtly gestured to the side with his head. James's brow crinkled as he tried to decipher Black's intent. Black kicked a smaller pumpkin lightly (it was still a sizable pumpkin, just not nearly so massive as the carved ones) and made the gesture again. Catching his meaning, James glanced quickly at Pettigrew and nodded to Black.

"Hey Hagrid," James said casually, looking up again at his tall companion, "I don't suppose you'd let us try?"

"Try carvin'?" Hagrid asked, and James shot him a big smile that he really hoped looked innocent.

"Yeah! We were doing it in Herbology today, but Professor Sprout obviously hasn't got your kind of expertise. I'll bet you could show us all sorts of neat tricks and such."

Strategy: talk fast, and don't give the opportunity to consider options.

Strategy: flatter as much as possible.

Hagrid was beaming and James knew they were set. He gave Black a quick thumbs-up behind his back.

"Well I don' see why not, s'long's yer not late fer class."

"We've got plenty of time," Black said, a little too quickly. There was an awkward silence, though it lasted no longer than a heartbeat; James swallowed, still smiling, and hoped Hagrid didn't notice anything funny. He didn't.

"Why don' yeh go on an' pick one yeh like then," Hagrid told them, oblivious to James's heavy sigh of relief. James handed his steaming mug to Hagrid and trotted into the garden.

"May we keep them when we're finished?" James asked and cringed inwardly. Proper grammar was his worst show; it was how his mother always knew he was up to something he oughtn't be. No one else knew it, though, and he thanked god for small mercies. A ways off, Pettigrew was helping Black wrestle the pumpkin he'd shown James. The pumpkin seemed to have the upper hand at the moment.

"Sure," Hagrid said to James, shrugging. "I don' see why not."

* * *

They were late to Defence Against the Dark Arts, but simply blamed it on Peeves chasing them down and dumping a bucket of pumpkin innards on their heads. The poltergeist had been doing that sort of thing all day, and the bits of pumpkin in the boys' hair and on their robes supported their story. The professor, who had a string of orange goo behind his ear, waved them in without penalty.

* * *

"Here, Pete, let me fix that," James muttered, tugging at the collar of the heavy black cloak draped over Pettigrew's shoulders. Pettigrew cringed and tugged at the fastening round his neck.

"You all right, Peter?" Black asked, sitting on James's bed, watching his two roommates. He had a crudely carved jack-o-lantern sitting next to him, oozing orange slime onto the bed sheets, which was why he was on James's bed and not his own.

Pettigrew's first response sounded something like a mouse being trod on, but he finally managed to squeak out an audible, if not believable, "Fine."

"All right, that's the best I can do," James said, stepping back from Pettigrew and looking him over.

"Hey, have you guys seen Remus all day?" Pettigrew asked suddenly. James eyed him suspiciously; he knew a change of subject when it bowled into him like a stampeding rhinoceros.

"He knows what today is," Black answered darkly.

"Halloween?" Pettigrew said quickly. He was so trying to stall.

"Exactly," said Black. "Lupin doesn't want to be dragged into this, so he's not here; the less he knows, the better for everyone."

"Yeah, this way he can't rat us out," James said thoughtfully.

"You think he'd tell?" Pettigrew asked, sounding surprised. James shook his head.

"No, I don't think so."

"You see, Pettigrew," Black said, "If Lupin doesn't know what we're doing, he doesn't have to lie if anyone asks. And he doesn't have to live with the consequences of being a snitch. He's guilt and worry free." Black stood, the holding the jack-o-lantern in both his hands, and eyed Pettigrew darkly. "But don't change the subject. It's pumpkin time." He started forward and Pettigrew took an involuntary step backwards, but swallowed hard and stood his ground. He tried to stay still as Black lowered the pumpkin down over his head. It only just fit, and Black had to wriggle it to get it over his ears. When he was done, Black stepped back beside James and they considered their work.

"What d'you think?" Black asked James.

"It really smells in here!" came Pettigrew's muffled voice from inside the jack-o-lantern.

"He's a little short, but I think it'll work," James answered, thoughtfully. Black's cloak on Pettigrew's smaller frame was supposed to make the figure look wispy and more ethereal, but really it just looked oversized, like a child dressed up in his parent's robes. The malevolent, if rough, face on the jack-o-lantern head did give it an almost sinister look, though, and in the right atmosphere, would be able to stir up quite a fright. Or, that was the theory.

"You don't sound convinced," Black said sharply, turning to James. James shrugged and bit his lip.

"It's just – I don't know. Has it got to be Peter? I mean, I'm a lot faster than he is; I'll be less likely to get caught."

"Like hell you will be!" Black snapped. "We've been through all this, Potter, and Pettigrew was our best option. You've got a history with Malfoy, remember, and so do I. That means we _have_ to be at the feast; someone, like my cousin, would notice if we weren't, and we'd be found out in a second! But _no one_ will suspect Pettigrew. He's got no record, no one will notice if he's missing for a while; it's the perfect plan! The perfect bluff." Black eyed James suspiciously, who still looked uncertain. "But hey, if you're that keen on it, by all means. But I had nothing to do with it."

"No, you're right," James said, looking away from Black to a spot on the floor. "No one will suspect Peter."

"I'm not kidding, you lot! It smells really bad in here!" Pettigrew said, his voice sounding panicked. He started yanking and clawing at the pumpkin on his head. "Hurry and get this thing off me! I think I'm going to hurl!"

James and Black quickly realized that Pettigrew wasn't kidding. They surged towards their struggling roommate, and in a great joint effort, they managed to yank the jack-o-lantern off the boy's head just in time for him to be sick all over the floor.

"Gross!" James cried, hopping backwards to avoid getting caught in the mess. Black swore emphatically.

"Sorry," Pettigrew said abashedly, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. James cringed at the mess down the front of Pettigrew's robes.

"It's all right, don't worry about it. Go clean yourself off and we'll take care of this," Black said, cringing. Pettigrew nodded without looking at either of his roommates and trotted off to the bathroom.

"Geh, that reeks," James groaned when the bathroom door snapped shut. He swallowed the sickness trying to creep up his own throat and tried not to breathe. He rushed over to the window behind the writing desk and yanked it open, stuck his head out, and took a deep, cleansing breath. He breathed again deeply before pulling his head back into the dorm room. "So now what do we do?" James asked, leaning back against the writing desk. "Since Peter obviously can't do it."

"One problem at a time," Black murmured. He was sitting on James's bed again with a charms textbook in his lap. He flipped through the index with a heavy sigh. "I know there's a spell in here for this," he said, referring to the puddle in the middle of the floor. James sighed as well, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Yeah, I know there is, but I don't remember what it is."

"Well there's _Scourgify_, but that won't get rid of all this, will it?" Black said with a wave of his hand.

"No," James replied quickly. "That'll just make it worse." Black looked up at James with an intrigued look, and James ignored it. "It starts with a vowel, I think. An A or an I. Here, I'll know it when I see it." He sat down next to Black and pulled the heavy textbook onto his own lap. "Ah ha! Here it is: _Evanesco,_ page 289." He flipped to the indicated page and skimmed through the instructions.

"_Evanesco!_" James said, pointing his wand at the puddle and jerking his wrist. The puddle vaporized instantly.

"_Scourgify_," Black said, pointing his wand at the same spot, and a stream of pink bubbles jetted out the tip of his wand. James vaporized the puddle of soap afterwards.

"Now that that's taken care of, what are we going to do about Peter?" James asked, standing up and rubbing his hands through his hair and over his face, causing his glasses to dig into his nose and scrape his cheek.

"We'll just have to move on to plan B. Honestly, calm down, Potter," Black answered.

"So what's plan B?" James asked, sounding more sceptical than hopeful. Black didn't say anything for a moment, which was never a good sign. Black always had an immediate answer to everything.

"I don't know," he admitted finally. "I was so sure plan A would work."

"Brilliant," James muttered, collapsing onto the nearest bed. He didn't care whose it was.

"Come on, I'm sure we can come up with something in the next," Black glanced at the wall clock as he spoke, "hour and change." James leaned up on his elbows and glared at him.

"Oh I'm sure," he said, and collapsed backwards with a soft thud.

* * *

"Do you really believe this is going to work, Black?" James hissed, glaring at his roommate's back as Black fiddled with the handle of a locked broom cupboard. There was a loud _click_ that James was sure every single person in the Great Hall had heard, despite all the noisy festivities. Black stood up straight, wearing a smirk James could see through the back of his head.

"You were saying?" Black said triumphantly, and James rolled his eyes.

"That's not what I meant," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Black peered around himself carefully and, slowly, pulled the door open. The hinges creaked in protest, and James cringed. There would be an investigation team coming any second now.

"Come up with a better suggestion, Potter," Black said, and slipped into the dark cupboard, pulling the creaking door shut behind him.

"I say we lock him in there and be done with it," James muttered to Pettigrew, who was standing beside him, shoulders slumped, staring at his shoes.

"James, I'm really sorry about all this," he said quietly, not looking up. James sighed heavily and clapped Pettigrew on the shoulder.

"For the last time, it's all right. It's not your fault. No one knew you'd…have the reaction you did…"James finished lamely.

"I'll never be able to have pumpkin juice again," Pettigrew muttered darkly as Black slipped back out of the cupboard. He clutched an old battered broom in his hand.

"You know, Filch has probably got that cupboard hexed," James told Black, holding the broom. "Bet you're going to wake up with something nasty growing on you."

"Let's go," Black said, ignoring James, and took off down the corridor, his roommates following closely behind, looking around over their shoulders as they went. There wasn't much use in it; the entire school was gathered in the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. The sound of happy chatter and laughter echoed through the empty corridor, and the wonderful smells of roasts and turkeys and hams made James's mouth water and his stomach protest angrily, making him wish they could just abandon this stupid plan that wasn't even going to work anyway and join the rest of their peers.

They slipped into a dark classroom not too far from the Great Hall and pulled the door shut behind them. Black propped the old broom on its handle and pulled out his wand. James hopped onto a desk and sulked about his empty stomach.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,"_ Black murmured, pointing his wand at the broom, and letting go. The broom twitched and lifted off the ground, hovering where Black held his wand.

"All right, Potter, get it out," Black said, not looking away from the broom, his brow creased in concentration.

"This is ridiculous, Black! Just let me do it," James hissed.

"You'll get caught; I'm trying to save your arse!" Black snapped, and for a moment, the broom bobbed in the air. James growled and set his schoolbag on the desk carefully. It still made a loud thud. James unbuttoned the bag and carefully lifted out the jack-o-lantern.

"Uhg, there's pumpkin slime all over my bag. And it's going to smell now," he grumbled under his breath, sliding off the desk onto his feet. Pettigrew looked away from the pumpkin, as if offended. James, standing on his toes, carefully placed the pumpkin over the bristled end of the broom. The pumpkin slipped down when he let go, and tilted to the side, but stayed more or less where is was put.

"Peter, the cloak," Black instructed. Pettigrew pulled the long black cloak out of his own bag and paused.

"How's it supposed to go on?" he asked in a loud whisper, clutching the cloak in his fists.

"Potter," Black barked, and James swore on general principle. He started scrounging through the classroom and, after a moment, came back holding a yardstick and a spool of rope.

"What classroom is this?" Pettigrew asked, frowning, as James lashed the yardstick to the broom, under the pumpkin, muttering something about offending deities and why it was a bad idea. Black spared a quick glance around the classroom and the broom bobbed dangerously close to the floor.

"No idea," he said, glancing again quickly at the human skull on the desk. "Does it matter?"

"I just don't think I want to take this class," Pettigrew muttered more to himself than anything and James stepped back. Pettigrew draped the cloak around the yardstick and fastened the clasp.

"Ooh, scary," James said, rolling his eyes. It looked like a scarecrow, the kind that sits out in a cornfield and is mainly used as a perch by any number of small birds while the crows feast. "We'd have been better off using Pete."

"I could have barfed on him," Pettigrew suggested.

"As charming as that sounds," Black growled. "Take this, Potter," he said, and after a moment's confusion, James realized he meant the scarecrow.

"Right," James said, pulling out his wand. "Ready."

Black levitated the scarecrow about a meter off the ground and then jerked his wand away.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!" _James said as the scarecrow fell towards the hard floor. His spell caught it just centimetres above the ground. Pettigrew whistled appreciatively.

Black, relieved of his burden, went over to his own schoolbag and started digging through it. He pulled out a musty old book that James had never seen before. James craned his head around to get a better look at it, while still trying to pay attention to his spell; the scarecrow bobbed up and down like a buoy in high tide, but didn't fall. As Black flipped through the heavy yellow pages, the smell of parchment and dust and mould wafted across the room and James had to fight the urge to sneeze.

"Where'd you get that?" Pettigrew asked, and then sneezed violently, which only made James want to sneeze more.

"Library," Black muttered, distracted.

"When were you in the library?" James laughed.

"After barfing, before Charms," Black said, only half listening. He settled on a page, sat himself on a desk, and leaned into the old book, squinting. He started muttering things to himself, and James and Pettigrew exchanged concerned looks.

"You want to borrow my glasses, there?" James asked, raising an eyebrow. Black kept reading and kept muttering, but raised a certain finger at James. James shrugged and turned back around to pay attention when he heard the broom handle hit the floor. After a few minutes, Black straightened up and pointed his wand at the scarecrow, though he still squinted into the book.

"All right, this doesn't seem too hard," Black muttered. "This should work."

Black carefully read out a series of complex Latin phrases, tripping over pronunciations occasionally, and even stopping a few times to decipher a word or two. His voice rose and fell, and James held his breath, inexplicably petrified for some reason. The wind whistled loudly beyond the dark window, and the flames of the torched in the room flickered ominously. There was a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a crash of thunder that James could feel through his shoes. With a swirl and a flick and a few other embellished movements, Black's spell was complete; he closed the book with a loud _snap_. No one said anything for a long moment. The scarecrow stood where it had always been, unmoving.

"So did it work?" James asked hesitantly. Suddenly, the torches on the walls went out, and they were engulfed in darkness. Loud screams erupted from the Great Hall and carried throughout the school, drowning out the panicked screams of the three Gryffindor boys. For an instant, there was silence in the total darkness; James was sure he'd gone deaf. The instant lasted just long enough for James to thoroughly panic, and then, just as suddenly, the lights flickered on again, and it was if nothing had happened.

"Wa-as that you?" Pettigrew squeaked. He was pale and shaky and looked as though he might faint.

"I don't think it was me," Black squeaked in reply. He didn't look much better off than Pettigrew. James's ear perked at the sound of raucous laughter from the Great Hall. He sighed in heavy relief, making him feel light-headed and giddy.

"Sounds like just some stupid Halloween stunt."

"Well then what did _you_ do?" Pettigrew asked Black nervously.

"Well I –" Black started, but was cut off by a loud crash. All three boys whipped around to were the scarecrow stood on its broom handle, its head tilted to the side, its empty sleeves dangling harmlessly, just as it had been moments ago. However, it was then that all three boys realized at the same time that James's wand was pointed nowhere near it. They all paled.

"Now what?" James asked, and the scarecrow spun on its handle to face him. James whimpered and he felt all the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stand on end. With a loud thump, the scarecrow took a hop towards James. _Thud. Thud. Thud_. James backed up hastily as the scarecrow approached him, faster with each hop.

"I think it likes you, James," Pettigrew laughed nervously as James backed into a desk. The scarecrow was racing towards him, the empty arms of the cloak swishing backwards behind it.

"What the hell!" James cried, clambering onto the desk. "Black, call it off!" Black snatched up the book and started flipping rapidly though the pages. James yelped as the scarecrow slammed into the desk he was standing on. The desk shook violently and he had to jump down before he fell and cracked his head. The scarecrow leapt onto the desk, and the wood of the table cracked and splintered where it landed. James gulped loudly from his seat on the floor. Black pointed his wand at the scarecrow and, staring into the book in his other hand, snapped off another Latin phrase. The scarecrow ignored him and jumped off the desk towards James.

James cried out as it landed, and scrambled backwards on his hands. "Seriously, Black, this isn't funny!" he whined, his voice rising in pitch.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Black shouted at the scarecrow. He swore loudly when nothing happened.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._ James backed himself into a corner behind the professor's desk as the scarecrow approached, ever increasing its speed. The scarecrow leapt over the desk effortlessly and James dived aside just in time to avoid getting speared. Pettigrew yelped loudly in surprise and James crawled quickly and tucked himself beneath the desk. The scarecrow turned on its pointed end to pursue him.

"Oh, this isn't good," Black said, picking up the book again. His voice sounded panicked.

"What the hell did you do to it?" James shouted as the scarecrow leapt onto the professor's desk. It bounced up and down on the thick wooden bureau, and James heard the wood splitting above his head. He slid down as far as he could and watched as seams appeared in the wood above him. The desk split and James yelped, diving out from under the desk, realizing all too well that the broom handle exposed through the wood had been positioned perfectly to spear him through the eye. James got to his feet and put some distance between himself and his possessed pursuer as the scarecrow struggled to unwedge itself from the crack in the desk. It wasn't long before the thing got itself free and was after James again. "Black!" James cried.

"I found this spell that would temporarily bring inanimate objects to life," Black said quickly, frantically skimming thought the pages of the musty old book. "That way, we could send it after Malfoy without putting ourselves at any risk."

"Where on earth did you find a spell like that?" Pettigrew yelped while James dove to the side to avoid the rampaging scarecrow, which was toppling desks left and right to get to him.

"It-it was in the restricted section," Black admitted sheepishly, and James and Pettigrew swore at him. "But it was supposed to do what I told it to!"

"You thought you could work a spell from a book in the restricted section?" Pettigrew shouted frantically. "There's a reason it's restricted, Sirius!"

"I know!" Black snapped.

"Well what _I_ want to know is _why_ is it after _me_?" James shouted from across the room. He had picked up a chair and was using it as a combination weapon/shield. The sleeve of his robe was torn and bloodied, and it looked like there was a nasty bruise forming on his left cheek.

"I don't know why it's after you," Black said, sounding regretful. "But the reversal spell isn't working and I can't find anything useful in this stupid book. I don't think the spell worked properly."

"You think!" James bellowed. He found himself backed up against the door, the chair sandwiched between himself and the scarecrow, digging into his ribs, while the door handle dug into his back. As the scarecrow tried to advance, James wedged his hand behind his back and felt frantically for the handle. His hand found it and he toppled backwards as the door swung open. He landed on the floor with a heavy thump, and the chair landed mostly on top of him, shielding him from the scarecrow's attempts to impale him, but crushing his leg at the same time.

Black ran up behind the scarecrow and swung the heavy book with two hands. The volume hit the pumpkin head with a loud thud and the scarecrow teetered sideways, giving James the seconds he needed to detangle himself from the chair and scramble to his feet. Black swung again with a loud yell. The scarecrow didn't seem to notice anything, going after James with focused determination. James whimpered.

Pettigrew ran out of the classroom with his wand raised, firing off any spell he could think of, but none of them seemed to have any effect at all. Not that any of the spells they'd learned so far would be useful in this situation. Still, James appreciated the effort, or would have were he not so busy trying to escape the homicidal scarecrow. Black tucked the heavy book under his arm and whipped out his own wand, but none of his spells had any effect, either.

James dodged the scarecrow as best he could, but couldn't seem to shake it. He started calling out frantically for help, but the sounds of the feast drown out his panicked cries. With no other option, James crammed himself between a suit of armour and the wall, closed his eyes, and hoped for the best. He could hear the scarecrow approaching quickly as he made himself as small as he could. The scarecrow leapt at James, pivoting so that its yardstick shouldered swiped at his head, but it was intercepted. James cracked his eye open to see the suit of armour's sword raised in a mighty block. The scarecrow bounced backwards a step, confused for a moment, then tried its attack again. The suit of armour jumped to life and swung at the scarecrow with its heavy sword. The scarecrow leapt backwards again, just out of range. James huddled himself into a tight ball against the wall as the suit went after the scarecrow, cutting and thrusting viciously. With a dull thunk, the suit's sword wedged itself into the scarecrow's pumpkin head, coming out just above its menacing triangle eye. It yanked hard, but the sword stuck fast.

At that instant, James, Black and Pettigrew pointed their wands at the scarecrow and started firing spells. The combined assault on the weakened target proved too much for the scarecrow, and its jack-o-lantern head exploded in a shower of pumpkin bits. The cloaked broom stood erect for a tense moment, then toppled sideways and landed harmlessly on the floor.

"What in Merlin's good name is going on here?"

James, huddled against the wall, whimpering, Black, tucking the restricted book behind his back and Pettigrew, breathless and pink in the face all turned to face Professor McGonagall. She stood, massive in a seemingly tiny corridor, staring daggers at them. All three of them were covered in pumpkin entrails, as were the walls, the floor, and the suit of armour.

* * *

At that moment in the Great Hall, the Head Boy stood and gave another long-winded speech, and every student there, including the Head Girl, had to roll their eyes. He then sat down at his place at the Slytherin table and enjoyed a large slice of pumpkin pie.

* * *

A/N: So I have to wonder how many of you are still reading this O. I'm sorry I don't update more regularly...sigh Well anyway, lemme know what you think! And what should the boys try next, or should they just give up? Review replies on bio page &c &c. You all rock! 


	9. Chapter Seven

_"Sir Isaac Newton was a muggle scientist famous for believing his head was a magnet. He also discovered gravity. Also, he did not shoot fire out his rear." – Important and Influential Muggles: Sir Isaac Newton by Peter Pettigrew (essay for third-year Muggle Studies)

* * *

_

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The November morning dawned clear and crisp and perfectly ideal for a Quidditch match. James and Frank Longbottom sat on the high, frost-covered rafters in the Gryffindor section, keeping their hands in their sleeves and their arms wrapped around themselves to maintain heat as a few early-bird spectators made their ways casually up the wooden steps in twos and threes. Most students were still at breakfast, but the teams were both in their respected change rooms, discussing tactics on how best to flounce each other.

Gryffindor versus Slytherin, the first match of the season.

James gazed down to the prim green pitch enviously, wanting very much to be down their himself, broom in hand, ready to take off with his mates and fight the good fight. Of course, first years were never allowed to play, although it wasn't technically against the rules. Captains (and rightly so,) tended to choose the older, more experienced, and, let's face it, less delicate players in their house. James, like any first year, knew and accepted this, but often, late at night, just before drifting off to sleep, he would picture himself, clad in gold and scarlet and leather, soaring on high to the roar of cheering crowds. It would happen, one day. But for now, he settled himself in to watch the top team in the school face off against their top rival. It would be a rough game, but then Quidditch always was.

Next to him, Frank sat with his arms curled around himself, looking nervously up and down the pitch, and looking strangely paler than usual. He kept fidgeting and chewing his cheek, which James, who had never seen Frank nervous about anything, found a little disconcerting.

The wooden rafters creaked as people started making their way up for the match. Students were painted brightly and wore colours to support their teams. The entire school seemed to be coming up at once, because within minutes, the rafters were all near full. James saw Pettigrew being herded up the stairs and waved him over. It took some fighting, but the small boy managed his way over and sat himself next to James.

"You got here early. I didn't even see you at breakfast," Pettigrew said brightly. His round cheeks were pink from a combination of fresh air, the struggle against the crowds to his seat, and excitement.

"I had breakfast early. I've been up for hours," James replied over the noise of the crowd. He was starting to feel the jitters of anticipation himself.

"Nothing like a good match to get you out of bed early on a Saturday, eh Potter?" Frank laughed.

"And yet I still didn't beat you, did I Frank?" James retorted with a knowing grin. Frank shrugged.

"I wonder where Sirius is," Pettigrew said, his eyes combing the crowds. They looked especially bright this morning against the clear sky.

"Who cares," James snarled. Pettigrew smiled sympathetically.

"You still haven't talked to him since…" James shuddered.

"And if I never talk to him again, it'll be too soon."

"Why, what happened?" Frank asked curiously. James growled deep in his throat.

"We got into a bit of a spot, and were given detention," Pettigrew told Frank. "James thinks it was Sirius's fault, and has been avoiding him since."

"It _was_ all his fault!" James snapped, not in the least amused, although Frank seemed to be.

"Well what happened?" Frank asked when he managed to compose himself enough to speak. James pressed his lips together in a tight line, so Pettigrew piped up.

"Well during the feast, we were doing something we oughtn't have been, and McGonagall caught us and gave us all detention."

"What were you doing, exactly?" Frank asked, and James immediately recognized the sneaky prefect tone. James glared at Pettigrew, sending mental urgings _not_ to tell Frank, since McGonagall still didn't know _exactly_ what they had been doing, and hadn't thought to ask. They'd be in all sorts of trouble if she or any of the professors found out that Black had snuck into the restricted section and had actually tried one of the spells he had found there. They might even get expelled! Since James didn't know if Frank would actually tell a professor if he found out (he was a good sort, Frank, but he was still a prefect), it came down to that Pettigrew could absolutely _not_ tell anyone. Pettigrew, unfortunately, didn't seem to get that. He laughed and went right into it, James, all the while, steeling himself for the worst.

"Well you see, James and Sirius, in the good spirit of the day, Halloween, that is, they thought it'd be a great laugh to play a little joke and give a bit of a fright. For laughs, you know. So Sirius had the idea to drape me in a big black cloak and put a pumpkin on my head and have me run about during the feast, only no one would know it was me. That was the plan, at least, only when they put the pumpkin on my head, I didn't take well to it and I hurled all over the place and there was a right mess. I'm not quite sure what happened next, it got a bit hectic, only the pumpkin exploded and there was McGonagall standing right there, and there we were in the middle of this huge mess. So she tore into us for a bit and made us clean the pumpkin off the walls and polish the suit of armour. All without magic, too."

After realising that the unexpected noise he was hearing was actually Frank laughing a hole in his side, James had the urge to lean over and kiss his wonderful little roommate. Pettigrew hadn't spoken a word of untruth – they had originally planned on having Pettigrew go after the Head Boy, and he had retched, and _no one_ quite knew what had happened when Black's spell had gone amuck. Pettigrew had managed to lay out a convincing tale without incriminating anyone further.

_Tricky little bugger, _James thought, grinning. _Who'd have figured?_

"Well, Potter, it serves you right. Although, I wish you luck should you decide to try again. But on the record, I never said that," Frank said after he'd finished laughing.

"Here here," James said with good spirit. Then the house teams marched onto the field and the crowds stood up and roared their welcome.

The players marched onto the pitch from opposite ends, lining up against each other at the centre line. The team captains shook hands; the Gryffindor captain looked almost dwarfed by the size of the bulky seventh-year Keeper who was the Slytherin captain. Alice stood among her team mates, her shoulders straight, her chin held high, her broom in one hand and her bat in the other. She didn't look nervous at all, which was more than you could say for Frank, who was fidgeting nervously again.

"You got money on the match or something?" James asked loudly over the din of the crowd. Frank didn't give any indication that he'd heard James, and continued staring onto the pitch as if it had grown tentacles.

"It's Alice's first official match," Frank said finally. He swallowed hard, looking as though he was trying not to be sick. James knew that Frank had always been dreadfully protective of Alice. He also knew how well Alice took that protectiveness, though good intentioned it was, and knew that the girl could take care of herself perfectly well. He also knew that, with certain subjects, most of them pertaining to Alice, talking to Frank was like trying to convince a wall that it didn't exist, and that people should be able to walk right through it. Which doesn't work, no matter how determined you are.

So James tried an alternative approach.

"You're just jealous 'cause she's better than you," he said smugly to Frank, then slapped his mittened hands together to generate some heat.

"Of course I'm not jealous!" Frank snapped immediately. "That would be ridiculous! But Quidditch is – it's just such a _violent_ sport."

"And Alice is just oh so fragile," James agreed emphatically.

"She's such a sweet girl," Frank insisted.

"And wouldn't hurt a fly to save her life," James nodded. "Just like that time those two boys were picking on her at that party a couple years back, and she _didn't_ shove cupcakes up their noses."

"Exa-Wait, what?" Frank said, finally looking up at James, his expression puzzled.

"Ministry Christmas party." James told him dreamily.

"Wait, I remember," Frank said, furrowing his brow. "Mrs. Prewett had to use her wand to get that jellybean out of her one boy's nose." James snorted a laugh. "I'm surprised you remember that," Frank said with a hint of a grin. "You couldn't have been more than five or six." James's face turned dark suddenly.

"Of course I remember. Those were my cupcakes." Frank laughed, and he was Frank again.

"You're so hard done by, aren't you, Potter?" Frank said warmly, slapping James firmly on the back.

"She'll be fine," James insisted, and Frank nodded.

"She's a good Beater," Frank said to James, although James knew he was probably trying to convince himself. "I asked a friend of mine to keep an eye on her, though, just in case. But don't tell her," Frank added the last part on quickly. He pointed out a tall, seventh-year Chaser.

"He's a prefect, isn't he?" James asked, leaning over the wood railing and squinting to get a better look as the teams got into position and straddled their brooms.

"Yeah," Frank said. "He was captain the past couple of years. He's a good sort."

"Why isn't he captain now?" Pettigrew asked.

"A lot of captains step down in seventh year, partly to train the next captain, and also to focus on their NEWTs," Frank said.

"I would never," James said to himself just ask the referee tossed the Quaffle into the air and the players took off. Any conversation now would be drowned out in the mad roar that followed.

* * *

After four and a quarter hours of the most spectacularly brutal (not to mention dirty as any cesspit) Quidditch match he had ever witnessed, James staggered out of the stands with his arm wrapped around Pettigrew's shoulders, the two of them laughing and talking loudly and neither of them entirely sure how the match had ended.

"-and then Connolly took that Bludger to the konk and fell right onto the Seekers – the pair of them! Cost another two hours of play, that did! And that's when things _really _got rough." James recited animatedly as the spectators loudly made their way back to the castle. The entire castle was in something of an uproar.

"Like that pile-up at the end – there wasn't a player still on their brooms!" Pettigrew replied excitedly, his round cheeks glowing pink mostly from excitement and only partly because of a sudden brisk wind.

"And did you see Frank's face when that big bloke nearly knocked Alice into the goalpost? I thought he was going to sprout wings and start spitting flames or something!"

"I still can't hear anything clearly out of my left ear," Pettigrew said, knocking his ear with his hand.

"And then the look on his face when Alice turned around and clobbered him with her bat." James laughed heartily. "His sweet little princess plays just as rough as the lot of them."

"Yeah, then she turned around and got Hesperus on the rebound!"

"Serves him right listening to Frank," James grinned. "And it's not like Alice meant to. Not really."

"Who got the Snitch in the end? I couldn't tell under all those bodies," Pettigrew asked. "It was McQuary, wasn't it?"

"That's what they're saying, although the Slytherins disagree. They're all screaming about a rematch." James stopped suddenly and Pettigrew had to double back.

"What is it?" Pettigrew asked, looking up concernedly at James, who was squinting off into the distance.

"I thought I saw…" James said, craning his neck as though it might help.

"What? What'd you see?"

"Newton!" James called, then waited.

"What? Who's Newton?" Pettigrew asked, thoroughly confused.

"Newton!" James called again in a singsong tone. He turned to Pettigrew. "Hagrid's fire slug. The one we never caught."

"You named the slug? The _missing_ slug?" Pettigrew asked nervously.

"Yeah," James answered simply.

"But – why?" Pettigrew asked, sounding very confused.

"Well I can't well go about calling 'Here fire slug!' because then how will he know that it's him I'm calling and not some other fire slug?" James told him, walking towards the castle again. Pettigrew stood cringing at the explanation. He opened his mouth a few times to reply, but couldn't seem to find the words.

"He's mental."

* * *

James looked up from his breakfast and glared icy daggers as Black slid into the seat in front of him. Black leaned across the table on his elbows and helped himself to a syrup-covered sausage from James's plate. James would have very much liked to stab him in the hand with his fork. Next to James, Pettigrew shifted nervously in his seat and sent a pleading look to Lupin, who wrapped a protective arm around his own breakfast plate in anticipation.

"Potter –" Black said lowly, leaning forward again, his dark hair falling dramatically over his eyes. James stabbed a sausage brutally, pretending it was Black's finger.

"I'm not talking to you," James snarled darkly.

"Oh grow up!" Black hissed, rolling his eyes. "Just listen -"

"The post should be here soon," James said, looking up at the charmed ceiling.

"Potter," Black growled.

"My mother said she'd be sending me something for today."

"Would you please just –"

"I do hope it involves baked goods…"

Black slammed a hand down on the table, hard, causing plates to rattle and a few goblets to spill their contents. Pettigrew squealed in shock and Lupin choked on a bit of toast he was eating. Potter merely looked down from the ceiling, not terribly impressed.

"Now look Potter –" Black said calmly.

"I _am_ looking," James replied, looking at the ceiling once again. "I am looking for the post."

Black's head dropped to the table, and he muttered something that sounded quite like "Idiot." A deep sigh later, and Black managed to pull himself upright enough to glare painfully at James. Since James was so intent on ignoring him, Black helped himself to another sausage.

"Would you stop stealing my food?" James grumbled.

"Would you stop being a baby and listen to me?" Black retorted.

"Would you –" Black slammed his hand down on the table again, and this time James and everyone else jumped. "Would you stop doing that!" James spat, his voice rising in pitch. The students sitting near the group were looking at them, whispering, and James could feel his ears heating. Pettigrew was already quite red in the face and Lupin was hiding in his hair, his head bowed over his breakfast and his shoulders slumped. Black didn't seem to care about any of this.

"I think I've got an idea," Black said, in a calm, reasonable voice.

"I don't care!" James insisted.

"Just hear me out!"

"You nearly got me killed!" James snapped quietly but harshly, making Pettigrew and Lupin wince.

"You're exaggerating," Black snapped right back. James glared harder, and Black rolled his eyes in concession. "Okay, so I screwed up. It could have been worse! Now we know what not to do –"

"Yeah, I know _not_ to listen to _you_!" James hissed, leaning in over his breakfast. "Look, we're in enough trouble. The points we lost put Gryffindor in last. I can never _look_ at pumpkin again –"

"So you're just going to quit? Just because of a few bumps and bruises –"

"It tried to put a hole through me, Black," James snapped a little louder than he'd intended, and received some strange and concerned looks from people sitting near by. Black at that moment, however, was looking towards the entranceway, where the Head Boy had just entered, chatting at length to the preoccupied and somewhat hassled-looking Head Girl. They were both walking, Andromeda digging through her schoolbag, searching for something, while trying to keep watch of where she was heading and struggling to keep up with Malfoy, who didn't seem to notice. James felt his stomach sort of lurch.

"Poor Andy," Black said, and James was surprised at the sincere concern in his roommate's voice.

James looked over and felt guilty, remembering that the Head Girl had been all too nice to him when he'd met her – giving him directions and a friendly smile when instead of a lecture and detention when he'd run crashing into her a few months ago. She didn't seem to be having an easy time of things, what with NEWTs and being Head Girl and having to deal with Malfoy. Just then, Andromeda tripped over something – probably someone's chair leg or schoolbag – and Malfoy turned.

"Are you even listening?" James could her Malfoy say from across the room. James's skin prickled and he felt a sneer appear on his face. "Honestly Andromeda, this is important. Try to keep up," Malfoy continued, and then turned around without pause, leaving the Head Girl to pull herself together. She straightened herself with as much dignity as she could muster – which was a great deal, in fact – and strode to catch up. James felt his stomach churn again and found himself suddenly and quite irrationally angry.

"So did you have an idea or what, Black?" James asked, still watching the Head Girl, suddenly angry.

"That mean you're still in?" Black asked suspiciously.

"Don't be daft," James said, turning back to his roommate. "Why would I have asked otherwise?"

Black helped himself to some more of James's sausage and a bit of syrup-covered hash brown and sat himself comfortably. "All right so –" He stopped short and turned to Lupin. "Is this going to bother you?" he asked. Lupin shrugged and shouldered his book bag as he stood up.

"I'll just see you lot later," he said, and Black nodded.

"I'm going to go with Remus, see if he can help me figure out this Charms work," Pettigrew said quickly, collecting his own bag from the floor.

"Sure thing, Pete," James said, smiling. Pettigrew gave a tight smile in return and left with Lupin. James sighed and ran a hand through his scruffy hair.

"All right, so this plan," he said, prompting Black.

"Right, so I figure we were aiming too high last time, thinking too big," Black started.

"You reckon?" James deadpanned.

"So we need something simple, but effective," Black went on. "I'm thinking sabotage."

"Sabotaging what?" James asked, leaning in over his breakfast plate, which, between the two boys picking at it, was now empty.

"I don't know yet – I say we wing it," said Black.

"_Wing it?_" James hissed, leaning onto his arms even more. He was suddenly hit by the fact that he was awful close to Black, so he backed up a little. "Cause _that_ worked out so well last time!" he grumbled.

"See, that's just it," Black insisted. "We over thought everything last time – planned every detail, leaving no room for flexibility. We need to be able to improvise-"

"So your plan is to improvise?" James asked.

"Basically," Black replied. James said nothing for a long moment, just staring daggers at his roommate, who didn't back down.

"Fine," James said finally.

"Really?" Black asked, sounding honestly surprised.

"Oh why the bugger not?"

* * *

It was near eleven o'clock. Black was down in the common room, checking for stragglers and witnesses, while James prepared things. But since the plan was 'to improvise', preparing basically meant James pacing the room, tugging at his hair and muttering nothings under his breath. Pettigrew and Lupin were both sitting on their respective beds – Lupin was at least pretending to read, unlike Pettigrew, who was openly watching James's progression.

"You're doing it tonight then?" Lupin asked, peeking up from behind a magazine.

"Thought you didn't want to know," James replied sharply, realising that Lupin didn't deserve it.

"Just be careful," Lupin said earnestly. "Don't get caught." James stopped pacing and looked at his often-quiet roommate, but Lupin was reading his magazine intently.

"Thanks," James said anyway. Black came into the room then, marching quickly over to his trunk and pulling on his black school robe.

"Common room's empty. We should get moving," he said, not looking at anyone.

"So what's the plan exactly?" Pettigrew asked, nibbling on a liquorice wand.

"We're just gonna play it by ear," Black told Pettigrew as James fastened his own robes tightly. Lupin's magazine crinkled; James noticed the boy's hands had tightened around the pages.

"Like, wander around until an idea strikes you kind of play it by ear?" Pettigrew asked, no longer chewing his candy, but staring at his roommates like they'd gone insane. James couldn't help but think they had. His parents were going to murder him if he got caught. When they got caught. There was no way in time or space that they weren't going to get caught.

"Something like that," James said brightly, trying to sound chipper, but probably just sounding a bit mad.

"Well, see you lot on the other side," Black said with a sharp salute, and the two of them left without another word, leaving their mates in stunned silent.

"They're mental," Lupin said after a moment.

"Noticed that, have you?" Pettigrew said with a shrug, pulling out a Quidditch mag of his own and settling comfortably to read.

* * *

James closed their dormitory room softly and followed Black down the dark, spiralling staircase to the common room. The fire was still burning brightly, casting a warm glow over the predominantly red room, making James want to snuggle up on the couch and fall asleep. It really was a comfortable room to be in - very classical looking, with its rich colours and mismatched antiques. To some, it may look cluttered, and overpowering, but James thought it was just perfect. James was vaguely aware that this could well be one of the last times he saw this room, - considering they were probably going to be expelled - which he supposed was why he was noticing things like furniture and fabric. Black hissed from by the portrait hole, and James turned away from the inviting room and followed his partner-in-crime out into the cold blackness.

Out in the hallway, the scene was very different from the warm common room. The half-moon shone brightly, casting long shadows down the length of the corridor and making everything look cold and very blue. He crouched down lower and followed Black, keeping close to the wall, as if it would help hide him. They'd both worn their class robes for this, thinking the dark colour would help hide them against the night, but it was clearly evident that black made them stand out even more against the moonlit walls and shining marble floors. James had never understood why the moonlight made everything look blue, but he'd always appreciated it. It was a very pretty blue. He looked at Black ahead of him, noticing that the light made his skin look even more like the fine marble of the floors, and even his hair had a dark blue shine to it. He looked at his own hand and reckoned he looked more like a corpse than marble.

"We should go this way," James whispered, tugging at the back of Black's robes. Black turned and James gestured at a dark hallway, lit only by wall torched, and well away from the incriminating moonlight. Black nodded and they crept as fast as they could into the shadows.

There were portraits lining the walls of this hallway, unlike the last, but luckily, they all seemed to be asleep. The sounds of light snoring echoed down the hallway, not at all muffled by the squishy carpet they now found themselves walking on. Someone down the hall gave a loud snort and both James and Black ducked, in case the sound had woken the portraits.

_As if it would help,_ James thought, rolling his eyes. Keeping low, Black waved James along and they proceeded down the hall. The pair of them kept near the walls, running through the torchlight to the next span of shadows, wincing whenever the floors would creak beneath them. They had no idea where they were, or where they were going, but they kept moving, because while being lost may be unproductive, staying still would be doubly so. After over an hour of turning down random hallways, James finally recognized a set of unobtrusive stairs and dragged Black towards it.

"No one comes this way," he insisted, and Black shrugged and followed up the stairs.

* * *

"Where are we?" Black asked as they peered around a corner, the stairs behind them.

"Third floor, Northeast wing," James answered, waving Black along once he was sure no one was coming.

"Third floor? Weren't we just on the forth floor?" Black asked, stopping in his tracks.

"Yes," James answered, stopping as well.

"But we just went _up_ a flight of stairs," Black said.

"Yup," James replied, turning back around and heading down the hall.

"But that doesn't make sense," Black insisted.

"Nope."

"But –"

"Shhh!" James hissed, ducking into a shadow and pressing himself against a wall. He gestured violently for Black to dot he same. Black ducked back around the corner he'd just rounded and ducked down, peeking out around it into the hallway. At an intersection just a few feet away, a wispy looking ghost of a woman went floating past, shimmering pearly white in the moonlight, followed soon after by a ghost of a man carrying a lute. He seemed to be serenading her, and rather poorly, James thought, but she didn't seem to mind. James and Black exchanged pained looks and waited in their positions for the music to fade into the distance. Once they could no longer hear the atonal strumming, James gestured for them to continue.

"So where're we going?" James asked Black once he'd caught up.

"I figured we were trying to get to the dungeons," Black said.

"Oh, you had a plan, did you?" James asked sceptically.

"Vaguely," Black replied.

"I swear to God, Black, if you say the word _pants_," James said threateningly and Black snorted a laugh.

"Well. Damn."

"Black!"

"No pants!" Black insisted, shaking his head. "Merlin, one track mind much, Potter? I figured we'd just sneak into his dorm and steal something, or something like that."

"Wish we had one of Hagrid's fire slugs. We could have slipped in his bed."

"Or in his –"

"Don't even think it, Black," James warned, shooting Black a nasty look.

"I was going to say trunk," Black said innocently.

"Sure you were," James said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh ye of little faith," Black said with a chuckle.

James peeked up and down the intersecting hallway, checking for any more ghost minstrels, and then darted across with Black close on his heels.

"You know, Malfoy's probably not even _in_ the dungeons right now," James said, bringing his head back around the corner and glaring at Black. He gestured with his head and they both sprinted across the intersection and continued on their way.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Black asked sceptically. "And how would you know that Malfoy's not there? Are you stalking him or something?"

"Yes," James hissed in reply, ducking down and peeking around another corner. Black stood up straight and looked down on James.

"Seriously?" James glared back up at Black.

"Not _actually_," he hissed, tugging Black down by his sleeve. "Look, at the beginning of term, and a few times since then, I've been seeing him wandering around at night, near the Owlery."

"And what have you been doing skulking around at all hours of the night?" Black asked indignantly. "And how does no one notice?"

"Cause you sleep like the dead," James answered, leading Black around the corner.

"If you don't sleep, then how are you always up at the crack of dawn every morning?" Black asked, his brow furrowed. James shrugged.

"Why waste time sleeping when you could be doing something?"

"Doing what?"

"I don't know. Anything."

"You're quite strange, d'you know that?" Black said after a long pause.

James didn't respond, mostly because he wasn't sure how. He was rather used to people thinking him odd – too much imagination and too much free time, people figured, sometimes not enough discipline, although James knew that was far from true and had had bruises to prove it. He was used to hearing it said in many different ways – sometimes begrudgingly, sometimes sympathetically, sometimes laughingly.

Black just sounded confused.

This way," James said, leaving Black's comment hanging in the air behind them.

* * *

"What if Malfoy's not in the dungeons," James asked once again. They'd made it to the ground floor, which means they were getting close to their destination.

"If Malfoy's not in the dungeons, wouldn't that be even better for us?" Black asked. "Less chance of getting caught."

"Unless his dorm mates catch us," James replied. "And another thing, how are we even going to get _into_ the dungeons? Even if we knew where the entrance was, we don't know the password…" Black was silent for a moment, and James hoped fervently that he was thinking.

"Yeah I guess we probably should have planned this a little better, shouldn't we have?" came Black's response finally. James whipped around furiously.

"Are you kidding, Black?" James half screamed, half whispered. The result sounded something like a boiling kettle.

"Well I certainly didn't hear you coming up with anything, _Potter_," Black hissed back, sounding, to James's dismay, a good deal more masculine about it.

"We're buggered," James raved. " Absolutely, fantastically, spiffingly –"

"Shit."

"Quite."

"No –" Black tugged James behind the outcropping of wall, well into the shadows, as a pair of footsteps scampered past. The sound of a girl giggling softly carried surprisingly well down the hall, and James realised they must have been students.

"What are they doing out so late, d'you reckon?" James asked, peering around the corner.

"Nothing I want to think about" Black replied, and James could almost hear Black cringe. Once they figured it was safe again, James and Black continued on their merry way, not even bothering to crouch anymore.

"Have you noticed how lax security is in this place?" James asked rhetorically. "Someone could sneak in and kill us all and no one would be the wiser."

"My, what a chipper fellow you are!" Black said, shaking his head.

"You never know. I mean, have you been reading the paper lately?" said James, and Black found he couldn't argue. There'd been a surprising number of cases of violence and death in the papers of late, more so, James thought, than he could remember seeing previously. Then again, James had never really taken to reading newspapers, and only knew what was happening when Frank or someone mentioned something.

"Anyway, that's not the point," Black said finally. "What kind of nutter would attack a school?"

"You never know," James said simply.

"This is stupid," Black grumbled.

"I'm just trying to make conversation," James grumbled.

"Well it's a stupid conversation," Black replied.

"Well what's not a stupid conversation, then?" James asked, and Black just shrugged. "Oh you're real helpful," James muttered, and he wasn't sure if Black heard. When neither of them said anything for a while, James started feeling the weight of the situation. Silence gave him too much time to think, and he was not in the mood to go where his thoughts were bound to take him. So he said the first thing that came to mind, hoping it would lead somewhere.

"So… your cousin, the Head Girl – Andy?" James said.

"Andromeda," Black confirmed. James bit his cheek.

"Like the constellation?"

"Yup."

"And the scary one is Bellatrix the Amazon?"

"Uh huh."

"And Sirius the Dog Star?"

"Shut up."

"Your family's got a thing for astronomy, eh?" James said, trying not to laugh.

"They're all a lot of sick and twisted wankers, yeah," Black replied, acid-sweet, but James could feel the weight behind the words in the air.

"You don't get on?" James asked, and suddenly reckoned he oughtn't have. He waited for Black to whip around and give him an earful, tell him it was none of his business and that he oughtn't stick his nose where it didn't belong. But to his surprise, Black just shrugged. And the underlying dejection in the stiff movement was answer enough.

"D'you get on with yours?" Black asked in response. James took a moment this time to think about his reply.

"Mostly," he said honestly. Black turned back to look at James, the expression on his face faint, but there. He seemed to be considering.

"As in you get on with most of them, or you get on with them most of the time?" Black asked, staring straight at James, and James found he wasn't quite sure what he had meant. He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again to consider.

"Both, I guess," James answered after a moment. Black nodded, and they both knew that the conversation was over.

* * *

The two of them wandered more then crept along in silence for a while, making their way slowly toward the Entrance Hall. They occasionally had to duck into shadows or around corners to avoid ghosts or portraits who would surely give away their location, and at one point they'd had to make a run for it when they'd come across Filch's demon cat, Mrs. Norris, whom James insisted would surely get her owner should she see them.

"But she's just a cat!" Black insisted, gasping for breath once James decided they'd run far enough that Mrs. Norris was no longer a threat.

"You don't understand," James said, holding his side. "This cat is evil. And bugger, I need to get into shape!"

"Face it, you're going to be scrawny forever," Black said with a laugh and standing up straight, as if to show James up.

"'Least I haven't had my brains bred out of me," James replied, glaring.

"Oh excuse me, who got the top score on the Charms test?" Black said, holding a hand to his ear. James rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Charms. Who's the first to Transfigure _everything_ in class?" James retorted.

"Now now, that Ravenclaw beat you once," Black said smugly.

"Oh no, which Ravenclaw?" James asked indignantly. He was pretty sure they were getting close to the Entrance Hall, now, which was good, because they would surely be able to find their way to the dungeons from there.

"I dunno, that little blonde one with all the freckles," Black said, waving his hand about.

"There is no one in our class who looks like that, Black," James growled.

"There is so! That bloke who sits next right near the front – " Black insisted.

"Oh him! No way! I was done ages before him!" James replied. His grin faded when he saw a tall shadow move down the hallway. They were out in the open, having reached the Entrance hall, and James was certain they were caught. But Black grabbed James by the arm and practically tossed him to the ground next to the staircase, then dove to the ground next to him. James closed his eyes and held his breath waiting to be caught and hoping in vain that it would be quick and painless. Around the time James's lungs started burning, Black elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to spill his breath in a burst.

"Shh!" Black hissed, clapping a hand over James's mouth. Black pointed up and mouthed a word, "_Malfoy_." James snapped his head up to get a look, although Black hadn't let go of his face. Between the posts of the banister, James could see the swishing of black robes and could only just make out the long, silver-blond locks flowing out behind the figure. James grabbed Black's wrist with both hands and tugged the hang off his mouth.

"_I told you,"_ James mouthed fervently. Black held his finger up to his lips in a shushing signal, and both boys sat quietly on the marble floor next to the grand stairway and watched the Head Boy stalk upstairs, well past curfew.

"Where's he going, you reckon?" Black asked once Malfoy was well out of sight.

"The Owlery. I'd bet my broom on it," James answered, crawling to his feet.

"Who's he owling at this hour?" Black asked, rushing to catch up with James, who was sneaking quickly up the staircase, staying low and close to the banister.

"I don't know, but whoever it is – or whatever he's sending – I'm thinking it's something he oughtn't be doing," James replied. He was crouched on the top stair, watching the Head Boy disappear down an ill-lit hallway in a flutter of hair and robes.

"So what do we do?" Black asked, crouched next to James on the stair below. James turned. Blue moonlight streamed into the Entrance hall from the large window well above the main entrance, reflecting off James's glasses, causing them to illuminate, all the while casting dark shadows around his pale face. Hidden mostly in dark robes and darker shadows, James grinned.

"Are you game?"

* * *

A/N: Is Sirius game? What _is_ Malfoy up to? Why does James know so much about astronomy? So many questions, so few updates. But I think we all know what the _real_ question for this chapter is: Where is Remus for the whole thing? O.o (Answer: Off doing Remus things.)

All right, so I'm sorry to say that, in the past ten months – yes, TEN MONTHS – this is the best I could come up with . Well, we've got some Black/Potter bonding, and hey, even a smidgen of plot! Anyway, review replies on my profile page, along with a bit of a note – I feel I owe you guys . For those of you still reading, you all rock!

Cheers all!


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